/  -i^iH 


^^'^  /^^ 


'/;■ 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 

MRS.  HOWARD  T.  RUNCKLE 


CHARLES    READE 


^he  Morf^s  of  Cbarlcs  IR^^be 

IN       SIXTEEN       VOLUMES 


PEGWOFFINGTON 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


ILLUSTRATED 


P.     F.    COLLIER     ^     SON 

PUBLISHERS      :       NEW     YORK 


13 


^ 


PEG   WOFFINGTON 


Vol.  y— 1 


TO 

T.   TAYLOR,   Esq., 

MY  FRIEND,   AND  COADJUTOR  IN  THE  COMEDY  OF 

"MASKS  AND  FACES," 

TO  WHOM   THE   READER  OWES  MUCH  OF  THE  BEST  MATTER 

IN  THIS  tale: 

AND  TO  THE   MEMORY   OF  MARGARET  WOFFINGTON, 

FALSELY  summed  up  until  today. 

THIS 

"  ©ramatic  Storg  " 

IS  inscribed  by 

CHARLES  READE. 


PEG  WOFFIlSrGTOlSr. 


CHAPTER   I. 


About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  in  a  large  but  poor  apartment,  a  man 
was  slumbering  on  a  rough  couch.  His  rusty  and  worn 
suit  of  black  was  of  a  piece  with  his  uncarpeted  room, 
the  deal  table  of  home  manufacture,  and  its  slim 
unsnuffed  candle. 

The  man  was  Triplet,  scene  painter,  actor,  and  writer 
of  sanguinary  plays,  in  which  what  ought  to  be,  viz. : 
truth,  plot,  situation,  and  dialogue,  were  not ;  and  what 
ought  not  to  be,  were  :  scilicet,  small  talk,  big  talk,  fops, 
ruffians,  and  ghosts. 

His  three  mediocrities  fell  so  short  of  one  talent,  that 
he  was  sometimes  impranstis. 

He  slumbered,  but  uneasily  ;  the  dramatic  author  was 
uppermost,  and  his  "  Demon  of  the  Hayloft "  hung  upon 
the  thread  of  popular  favor. 

On  his  uneasy  slumber  entered  from  the  theatre,  Mrs. 
Triplet. 

She  was  a  lady  who  in  one  respect  fell  behind  her 
husband;  she  lacked  his  variety  in  ill-doing,  but  she 
recovered  herself  by  doing  her  one  thing  a  shade  worse 
than  he  did  any  of  his  three.  She  was  what  is  called 
in  grim  sport,  an  actress ;  she  had  just  cast  her  mite  of 


6  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

discredit  on  royalty  by  playing  the  Queen,  and  had 
trundled  home  the  moment  the  breath  was  out  of  her 
royal  body.  She  came  in  rotatory  with  fatigue,  and  fell, 
gristle,  into  a  chair;  she  wrenched  from  her  brow  a 
diadem  and  eyed  it  with  contempt,  took  from  her  pocket 
a  sausage,  and  contemplated  it  with  respect  and  affec- 
tion, placed  it  in  a  frying-pan  on  the  lire,  and  entered 
her  bedroom,  meaning  to  don  a  loose  wrapper,  and 
dethrone  herself  into  comfort. 

But  the  poor  woman  was  shot  walking  by  Morpheus, 
and  subsided  altogether;  for  dramatic  performances, 
amusing  and  exciting  to  youth  seated  in  the  pit,  convey 
a  certain  weai'iness  to  those  bright  beings  who  sparkle 
on  the  stage  for  bread  and  cheese. 

Royalty  disposed  of,  still  left  its  trail  of  events.  The 
sausage  began  to  "  spit."  The  sound  was  hardly  out  of 
its  body,  when  poor  Triplet  writhed  like  a  worm  on  a 
hook.  "  Spitter,  spittest, "  went  the  sausage.  Triplet 
groaned,  and  at  last  his  inarticulate  murmurs  became 
words  :  •'  That's  right,  pit,  now  that  is  so  reasonable  to 
condemn  a  poor  fellow's  play  before  you  have  heard  it 
out."  Then,  with  a  change  of  tone,  "Tom,"  muttered 
he,  "  they  are  losing  their  respect  for  spectres  ;  if  they 
do,  hunger  will  make  a  ghost  of  me."  Next,  he  fancied 
the  clown  or  somebody  had  got  into  his  ghost's  costume. 

"  Dear,"  said  the  poor  dreamer,  "  the  clown  makes  a 
very  pretty  spectre,  with  his  ghastly  white  face,  and  his 
blood  boltered  cheeks  and  nose.  I  never  saw  the  fun  of 
a  clown  before  :  no,  no,  no !  it  is  not  the  clown,  it  is 
worse,  much  worse ;  oh,  dear ;  ugh  I  "  and  Triplet  rolled 
off  the  couch  like  Richard  the  Third.  He  sat  a  moment 
on  the  floor,  with  a  finger  in  each  eye ;  and  then  finding 
he  was  neither  daubing,  ranting,  nor  deluging  earth  with 
"acts,"  he  accused  himself  of  indolence,  and  sat  down 
to  write  a  small  tale  of  blood  and  bombast ;  he  took  his 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  7 

seat  at  the  deal  table  with  some  alacrity,  for  he  had 
recently  made  a  discovery. 

How  to  write  well,  I'ien  que  cela. 

"  First,  think  in  as  homely  a  way  as  you  can  ;  next, 
shove  your  j)en  under  the  thought,  and  lift  it  by 
polysyllables  to  the  true  level  of  fiction  "  (when  done, 
find  a  publisher — if  you  can).  "This,"  said  Triplet, 
"  insures  common  sense  to  your  ideas,  which  does  pretty 
well  for  a  basis,"  said  Triplet  apologetically,  "and  ele- 
gance to  the  dress  they  wear."  Triplet  then  casting  his 
eyes  round,  in  search  of  such  actual  circumstances  as 
could  be  incorporated  on  this  plan  with  fiction,  began  to 
work  thus  : 

triplet's  facts.  teiplet's  fiction. 

A  farthing  dip  is  ou  the  table.  A  solitary  candle  cast  its  pale 

gleams  around. 
It  wants  snuffing.  Its  elongated   wick    betrayed 

an  owner  steeped  in  oblivion. 
He  jumped  up,  and  snuffed  it  He     rose      languidly,      and 

with  his  tingcrs.  Burned  his  tin-  trimmed  it  with  an  instrument 
gers,  and  swore  a  little.  that  he  had  by  his  side  for  that 

purpose,  and  muttered  a  silent 
ejaculation. 

Before,  however,  the  mole  Triplet  could  undermine 
literature  and  level  it  with  the  dust,  various  interrujt- 
tions  and  divisions  broke  in  upon  his  design,  and,  sic  nos 
servavit  Apollo.  As  he  wrote  the  last  sentence,  a  loud 
rap  came  to  his  door.  A  servant  in  livery  brought  him 
a  note  from  Mr.  Vane,  dated  Covent  Garden.  Triplet's 
eyes  sparkled,  he  bustled,  wormed  himself  into  a  less 
rusty  coat,  and  started  off  to  the  Theatre  Koyal,  Covent 
Garden. 

In  those  days,  the  artists  of  the  pen  and  the  brush 
ferreted  patrons,  instead  of  aiming  to  be  indispensable 
to  the  public,  the  only  patron  worth  a  single  gesture  of 
the  quill. 


8  PEC}    WOKFINGTON. 

Mr.  Vane  had  conversed  with  Triplet ;  that  is,  let 
Triplet  talk  to  him  in  a  coffee-house,  and  Triplet,  the 
most  sanguine  of  unfortunate  men,  had  already  built  a 
series  of  expectations  upon  that  interview,  when  this 
note  arrived.  Leaving  him  on  his  road  from  Lambeth 
to  Covent  Garden,  we  must  introduce  more  important 
personages. 

Mr.  Vane  was  a  wealthy  gentleman  from  Shropshire, 
whom  business  had  called  to  London  four  months  ago, 
and  now  pleasure  detained.  Business  still  occupied  the 
letters  he  sent  now  and  then  to  his  native  county ;  but 
it  had  ceased  to  occupy  the  writer.  He  was  a  man  of 
learning  and  taste,  as  times  went;  and  his  love  of  the 
arts  had  taken  him  some  time  before  our  tale  to  the 
theatres,  then  the  resort  of  all  who  pretended  to  taste ; 
and  it  was  thus  he  had  become  fascinated  by  Mrs. 
Woffington,  a  lady  of  great  beauty,  and  a  comedian  high 
in  favor  with  the  town. 

The  lirst  night  he  saw  her  was  an  epoch  in  the  history 
of  this  gentleman's  mind.  He  had  learning  and  refine- 
ment, and  he  had  not  great  practical  experience,  and 
such  men  are  most  open  to  impression  from  the  stage. 
He  saw  a  being,  all  grace  and  bright  nature,  move  like 
a  goddess  among  the  stiff  puppets  of  the  scene ;  her  glee 
and  her  pathos  were  ecjually  catching,  she  held  a  golden 
key  at  which  all  the  doors  of  the  heart  flew  open.  Her 
face,  too,  was  as  full  of  goodness  as  intelligence  —  it 
was  like  no  other  face ;  the  heart  bounded  to  meet  it. 

He  rented  a  box  at  her  theatre.  He  was  there  every 
night  before  the  curtain  drew  up ;  and  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  he  at  last  took  half  a  dislike  to  Sunday  —  Sun- 
day, "  which  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of  care,"  Sun- 
day, "  tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,"  because,  on  Sunday, 
there  was  no  Peg  Woffington.  At  first,  he  regarded  her 
as  a  being  of  another  sphere,  an  incarnation  of  poetry 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  9 

and  art ;  but  by  degrees  his  secret  aspirations  became 
bolder.  She  was  a  woman ;  there  were  men  who  knew 
her ;  some  of  them  inferior  to  him  in  position,  and,  he 
flattered  himself,  in  mind.  He  had  even  heard  a  tale 
against  her  character.  To  him  her  face  was  its  confuta- 
tion, and  he  knew  how  loose-tongued  is  calumny;  but 
still  — ! 

At  last  one  day  he  sent  her  a  letter,  unsigned.  This 
letter  expressed  his  admiration  of  her  talent  in  warm 
but  respectful  terms  ;  the  writer  told  her  it  had  become 
necessary  to  his  heart  to  return  her  in  some  way  his 
thanks  for  the  land  of  enchantment  to  which  she  had 
introduced  him.  Soon  after  this,  choice  flowers  found 
their  way  to  her  dressing-room  every  night,  and  now 
and  then  verses  and  precious  stones  mingled  with  her 
roses  and  eglantine.  And  oh !  how  he  watched  the  great 
actress's  eye  all  the  night;  how  he  tried  to  discover 
whether  she  looked  oftener  towards  his  box  than  the 
corresponding  box  on  the  other  side  of  the  house. 

Did  she  notice  him,  or  did  she  not  ?  What  a  point 
gained,  if  she  was  conscious  of  his  nightly  attendance ; 
she  would  feel  he  was  a  friend,  not  a  mere  auditor.  He 
was  jealous  of  the  pit,  on  whom  Mrs.  Woffington  lavished 
her  smiles  without  measure. 

At  last,  one  day  he  sent  her  a  wreath  of  flowers,  and 
implored  her,  if  any  word  he  had  said  to  her  had  pleased 
or  interested  her,  to  wear  this  wreath  that  night.  After 
he  had  done  this  he  trembled ;  he  had  courted  a  decision, 
when,  perhaps,  his  safety  lay  in  patience  and  time.  She 
made  her  entree  ;  he  turned  cold  as  she  glided  into  sight 
from  the  prompter's  side ;  he  raised  his  eyes  slowly  and 
fearfully  from  her  feet  to  her  head ;  her  head  was  bare, 
wreathed  only  by  its  own  rich  glossy  honors.  "  Fool ! " 
thought  he,  *'to  think  she  would  hang  frivolities  upon 
that  glorious  head  for  me."     Yet,  his  disappointment 


10  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

told  him  he  had  really  hoped  it ;  he  would  not  have  sat 
out  the  play,  but  for  a  leaden  incapacity  of  motion  that 
seized  him. 

The  curtain  drew  up  for  the  fifth  act,  and  —  could  he 
believe  his  eyes  ?  —  Mrs.  Woffington  stood  upon  the 
stage  with  his  wreath  upon  her  graceful  head.  She  took 
away  his  breath.  She  spoke  the  epilogue,  and,  as  the 
curtain  fell,  she  lifted  her  eyes,  he  thought,  to  his  box, 
and  made  him  a  distinct,  queen-like  courtesy ;  his  heart 
fluttered  to  his  mouth,  and  he  walked  home  on  wings 
and  tiptoe.     In  short  — 

Mrs.  Woffington,  as  an  actress,  justified  a  portion  of 
this  enthusiasm.  She  was  one  of  the  truest  artists  of 
her  day ;  a  fine  lady  in  her  hands  was  a  lady,  with  the 
genteel  affectation  of  a  gentlewoman :  not  a  harlot's 
affectation,  which  is  simply  and  without  exaggeration 
what  the  stage  commonly  gives  us  for  a  fine  lady ;  an 
old  woman  in  her  hands  was  a  thorough  woman,  thor- 
oughly old,  not  a  cackling  young  person  of  epicene 
gender.  She  played  Sir  Harry  Wildair  like  a  man, 
which  is  how  he  ought  to  be  played  (or,  which  is  better 
still,  not  at  all),  so  that  Garrick  acknowledged  her  as 
a  male  rival,  and  abandoned  the  part  he  no  longer 
monopolized. 

Now  it  very,  very  rarely  happens  that  a  woman  of  her 
age  is  high  enough  in  art  and  knowledge  to  do  these 
things.  In  players,  vanity  cripples  art  at  every  step. 
The  young  actress  who  is  not  a  Woffington  aims  to  dis- 
play herself  by  means  of  her  part,  which  is  vanity ;  not 
to  raise  her  part  by  sinking  herself  in  it,  which  is  art.    It 

has  been  my  misfortune  to  see ,  and ,  and , 

and ,  et  ceteras,  play  the  man;  nature  forgive  them,  if 

you  can,  for  art  never  will ;  they  never  reached  any  idea 
more  manly  than  a  steady  resolve  to  exliibit  the  points 
of  a  woman  with  greater  ferocity  than  they  could  in  a 


PEG    WOPFINGTON.  11 

gown.  But  consider,  ladies,  a  man  is  not  the  meanest 
of  the  brute  creation,  so  how  can  he  be  an  unwomanly 
female  ?  This  sort  of  actress  aims  not  to  give  her 
author's  creation  to  the  public,  but  to  trot  out  the  person 
instead  of  the  creation,  and  shows  sots  what  a  calf  it 
has  —  and  is. 

Vanity,  vanity  !  all  is  vanity !  Mesdames  les  Charla- 
tanes. 

Margaret  Woffington  was  of  another  mould ;  she 
played  the  ladies  of  high  comedy  with  grace,  distinction, 
and  delicacy.  But  in  Sir  Harry  Wildair  she  parted 
with  a  woman's  mincing  foot  and  tongue,  and  played 
the  man  in  a  style  large,  spirited,  and  elance.  As  Mrs. 
Day  (committee),  she  painted  wrinkles  on  her  lovely 
face  so  honestly  that  she  was  taken  for  threescore,  and 
she  carried  out  the  design  with  voice  and  person,  and 
did  a  vulgar  old  woman  to  the  life.  She  disfigured  her 
own  beauties  to  show  the  beauty  of  her  art :  in  a  word, 
she  was  an  artist !  It  does  not  follow  she  was  the  great- 
est artist  that  ever  breathed;  far  from  it.  Mr.  Vane 
was  carried  to  this  notion  by  passion  and  ignorance. 

On  the  evening  of  our  tale  he  was  at  his  post,  patiently 
sitting  out  one  of  those  sanguinary  discourses  our  rude 
forefathers  thought  were  tragic  plays.  Sedet  oetemuitique 
Sedebit  Infelix  Theseus,  because  Mrs.  Woffington  is  to 
speak  the  epilogue. 

These  epilogues  were  curiosities  of  the  human  mind; 
they  whom,  just  to  ourselves  and  them,  we  call  oxxx  for- 
bears, had  an  idea  their  blood  and  bombast  were  not 
ridiculous  enough  in  themselves,  so  when  the  curtain 
had  fallen  on  the  debris  of  the  dramatis  personce,  and  of 
common-sense,  they  sent  on  an  actress  to  turn  all  the 
sentiment  so  laboriously  acquired  into  a  jest. 

To  insist  that  nothing  good  or  beautiful  shall  be 
carried  safe  from  a  play  out  into  the  street  was  the 


12  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 

bigotry  of  English  horse-play.  Was  a  Lucretia  the 
heroine  of  the  tragedy,  she  was  careful  in  the  epilogue 
to  speak  like  Messalina.  Did  a  king's  mistress  come  to 
hunger  and  repentance,  she  disinfected  all  the  petites 
maitresses  in  the  house  of  the  moral,  by  assuring  them 
that  sin  is  a  joke,  repentance  a  greater,  and  that  she 
individually  was  ready  for  either  if  they  would  but  cry, 
laugh,  and  pay.  Then  the  audience  used  to  laugh,  and 
if  they  did  not,  lo !  the  manager,  actor,  and  author  of 
heroic  tragedy,  were  exceeding  sorrowful. 

Whilst  sitting  attendance  on  the  epilogue,  Mr.  Vane 
had  nothing  to  distract  him  from  the  congregation  but  a 
sanguinary  sermon  in  five  heads,  so  his  eyes  roved  over 
the  pews,  and  presently  he  became  aware  of  a  familiar 
face  watching  him  closely.  The  gentleman  to  whom  it 
belonged,  finding  himself  recognized,  left  his  seat,  and  a 
minute  later  Sir  Charles  Pomander  entered  Mr.  Vane's 
box. 

This  Sir  Charles  Pomander  was  a  gentleman  of  vice : 
pleasure  he  called  it.  Mr.  Vane  had  made  his  acquaint- 
ance two  years  ago  in  Shropshire.  Sir  Charles,  who  hus- 
banded everything  except  his  soul,  had  turned  himself 
out  to  grass  for  a  month.  His  object  was,  by  roast 
mutton,  bread  with  some  little  flour  in  it,  air,  water, 
temperance,  chastity,  and  peace,  to  be  enabled  to  take  a 
deeper  plunge  into  impurities  of  food  and  morals. 

A  few  nights  ago,  unseen  by  Mr.  Vane,  he  had  observed 
him  in  the  theatre.  An  ordinary  man  would  have  gone 
at  once  and  shaken  hands  with  him ;  but  this  was  not  an 
ordinary  man,  this  was  a  diplomatist.  First  of  all,  he 
said  to  himself,  "  What  is  this  man  doing  here  ?  "  Then 
he  soon  discovered  this  man  must  be  in  love  with  some 
actress ;  then  it  became  his  business  to  know  who  she 
was ;  this  too  soon  betrayed  itself.  Then  it  became  more 
than  ever  Sir  Charles's  business  to  know  whether  Mrs. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  13 

Woffington  returned  the  sentiment,  and  here  his  pene- 
tration was  at  fault  for  the  moment;  he  determined, 
however,  to  discover. 

Mr.  Vane  then  received  his  friend  all  unsuspicious 
how  that  friend  had  been  skinning  him  with  his  eyes  for 
some  time  past.  After  the  usual  compliments  had 
passed  between  two  gentlemen  who  had  been  hand  and 
glove  for  a  month,  and  forgotten  each  other's  existence 
for  two  years,  Sir  Charles  still  keeping  in  view  his 
design,  said,  — 

"Let  us  go  upon  the  stage."  The  fourth  act  had  just 
concluded. 

"  Go  upon  the  stage  ! "  said  Mr.  Vane ;  '^  what,  where 
she  —  I  mean  among  the  actors  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  come  into  the  green-room.  There  are  one  or 
two  people  of  reputation  there ;  1  will  introduce  you  to 
them,  if  you  please." 

"  Go  upon  the  stage  ! "  why,  if  it  had  been  proposed 
to  him  to  go  to  heaven  he  would  not  have  been  more 
astonished.  He  was  too  astonished  at  first  to  realize  the 
full  beauty  of  the  arrangement,  by  means  of  which  he 
might  be  within  a  yard  of  Mrs.  Woffington,  might  feel 
her  dress  rustle  past  him,  might  speak  to  her,  might 
drink  her  voice  fresh  from  her  lips  almost  before  it 
mingled  with  meaner  air.  Silence  gives  consent,  and 
Mr.  Vane,  though  he  thought  a  great  deal,  said  nothing ; 
so  Pomander  rose,  and  they  left  the  boxes  together. 
He  led  the  way  to  the  stage  door,  which  was  opened 
obsequiously  to  him ;  they  then  passed  through  a  dismal 
passage,  and  suddenly  emerged  upon  that  scene  of 
enchantment,  the  stage :  a  dirty  platform  encumbered 
on  all  sides  with  piles  of  scenery  in  flats.  They  threaded 
their  way  through  rusty  velvet  actors  and  fustian  car- 
penters, and  entered  the  green-room.  At  the  door  of 
this  magic  chamber  Vane  trembled  and  half  wished  he 


14  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

could  retire.  They  entered ;  his  apprehension  gave  way 
to  disappointment ;  she  was  not  there.  Collecting  him- 
self, he  was  presently  introduced  to  a  smart,  jaunty,  and 
to  do  him  justice,  distingue  old  beau.  This  was  Colley 
Gibber,  Esq.,  poet  laureate,  and  retired  actor  and  drama- 
tist, a  gentleman  who  is  entitled  to  a  word  or  two. 

This  Gibber  was  the  only  actor  since  Shakespeare's 
time  who  had  both  acted  and  written  well.  Pope's  per- 
sonal resentment  misleads  the  reader  of  English  poetry 
as  to  Gibber's  real  place  among  the  wits  of  the  day. 

The  man's  talent  was  dramatic,  not  didactic,  or  ejiic, 
or  pastoral.  Pope  was  not  so  deep  in  the  drama  as  in 
other  matters,  and  Gibber  was  one  of  its  luminaries ;  he 
wrote  some  of  the  best  comedies  of  his  day.  He  also 
succeeded  where  Dryden,  for  lack  of  true  dramatic  taste, 
failed.  He  tampered  successfully  with  Shakespeare. 
Colley  Gibber's  version  of  "  Richard  the  Third  "  is  impu- 
dent and  slightly  larcenic,  but  it  is  marvellously  effective. 
It  has  stood  a  century,  and  probably  will  stand  forever ; 
and  the  most  admired  passages,  in  what  literary  hum- 
bugs who  pretend  they  know  Shakespeare  by  the  closet, 
not  the  stage,  accept  as  Shakespeare's  "  Richard,"  are 
Gibber's. 

Mr.  Gibber  was  now  in  private  life,  a  mild  edition  of 
his  own  Lord  Foppington ;  he  had  none  of  the  snob-fop 
as  represented  on  our  conventional  stage ;  nobody  ever 
had,  and  lived.  He  was  in  tolerably  good  taste ;  but 
he  went  ever  gold-laced,  highly-powdered,  scented,  and 
diamonded,  dispensing  graceful  bows,  praises  of  whoever 
had  the  good  luck  to  be  dead,  and  satire  of  all  who  were 
here  to  enjoy  it. 

Mr.  Vane,  to  whom  the  drama  had  now  become  the 
golden  branch  of  letters,  looked  with  some  awe  on  this 
veteran,  for  he  had  seen  many  Woffingtons.  He  fell 
soon  upon  the  subject  nearest  his  heart.     He  asked  Mr, 


PEG    TVOFFINGTON.  16 

Gibber  what  lie  thought  of  Mrs.  Woffington.  The  old 
gentleman  thought  well  of  the  young  lady's  talent,  espe- 
cially her  comedy ;  in  tragedy,  said  he,  she  imitates 
Mademoiselle  Dumesil,  of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais,  and 
confounds  the  stage  rhetorician  with  the  actress.  The 
next  question  was  not  so  fortunate.  "Did  you  ever  see 
so  great  and  true  an  actress  upon  the  whole  ?  " 

Mr.  Gibber  opened  his  eyes,  a  slight  flush  came  into 
his  wash-leather  face,  and  he  replied  :  "  I  have  not  only 
seen  many  equal,  many  superior  to  her,  but  I  have  seen 
some  half-dozen  who  would  have  eaten  her  up  and  spit 
her  out  again,  and  not  known  they  had  done  anything 
out  of  the  way." 

Here  Pomander  soothed  the  veteran's  dudgeon  by  ex- 
plaining in  dulcet  tones  that  his  friend  was  not  long 
from  Shropshire,  and —  The  critic  interrupted  him,  and 
bade  him  not  dilute  the  excuse. 

Now,  Mr.  Vane  had  as  much  to  say  as  either  of  them, 
but  he  had  not  the  habit,  which  dramatic  folks  have,  of 
carrying  his  whole  bank  in  his  cheek-pocket,  so  they 
quenched  him  for  two  minutes.  But  lovers  are  not 
silenced,  he  soon  returned  to  the  attack ;  he  dwelt  on 
the  grace,  the  ease,  the  freshness,  the  intelligence,  the 
universal  beauty  of  Mrs.  Wofiington.  Pomander  sneered, 
to  draw  him  out.  Gibber  smiled,  with  good-natured  supe- 
riority. This  nettled  the  young  gentleman,  he  fired  up, 
his  handsome  countenance  glowed,  he  turned  Demos- 
thenes for  her  he  loved.  One  advantage  he  had  over 
both  Gibber  and  Pomander,  a  fair  stock  of  classical 
learning ;  on  this  he  now  drew. 

"  Other  actors  and  actresses,"  said  he,  "  are  monotonous 
in  voice,  monotonous  in  action,  but  Mrs.  Woffington's 
delivery  has  the  compass  and  variety  of  nature,  and  her 
movements  are  free  from  the  stale  uniformity  that  dis- 
tinguishes artifice  from  art.     The  others  seem  to  me  to 


16  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 

have  but  two  dreams  of  grace,  a  sort  of  crawling  on  stilts 
is  their  motion,  and  an  angular  stiffness  their  repose." 
He  then  cited  the  most  famous  statues  of  antiquity,  and 
quoted  situations  in  plays  where,  by  her  fine  dramatic 
instinct,  Mrs.  Woffington,  he  said,  threw  her  person  into 
postures  similar  to  these,  and  of  equal  beauty ;  not  that 
she  strikes  attitudes  like  the  rest,  but  she  melts  from 
one  beautiful  statue  into  another ;  and  if  sculptors  could 
gather  from  her  immortal  graces,  painters  too  might  take 
from  her  face  the  beauties  that  belong  of  right  to  pas- 
sion and  thought,  and  orators  might  revive  their  withered 
art,  and  learn  from  those  golden  lips  the  music  of  old 
Athens,  that  quelled  tempestuous  mobs,  and  princes 
drunk  with  victory. 

Much  as  this  was,  he  was  going  to  say  more,  ever  so 
much  more,  but  he  became  conscious  of  a  singular  sort 
of  grin  upon  every  face ;  this  grin  made  him  turn  rapidly 
round  to  look  for  its  cause.  It  explained  itself  at  once ; 
at  his  very  elbow  was  a  lady,  whom  his  heart  recognized, 
though  her  back  was  turned  to  him.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  rich  silk  gown,  pearl  white,  with  flowers  and  sprigs 
embroidered;  her  beautiful  white  neck  and  arms  were 
bare.  She  was  sweeping  up  the  room  with  the  epilogue 
in  her  hand,  learning  it  off  by  heart ;  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room  she  turned,  and  now  she  shone  full  upon  him. 

It  certainly  was  a  dazzling  creature  :  she  had  a  head 
of  beautiful  form,  perched  like  a  bird  upon  a  throat  mass- 
ive yet  shapely  and  smooth  as  a  column  of  alabaster,  a 
symmetrical  brow,  black  eyes  full  of  fire  and  tenderness, 
a  delicious  mouth,  with  a  hundred  varying  expressions, 
and  that  marvellous  faculty  of  giving  beauty  alike  to 
love  or  scorn,  a  sneer  or  a  smile.  But  she  had  one  feature 
more  remarkable  than  all,  her  eyebrows  —  the  actor's 
feature  —  they  were  jet  black,  strongly  marked,  and  in 
repose  were  arched  like  a  rainbow ;  but  it  was  their  ex- 


PEG    WOFB^INGTON.  17 

traordinary  flexibility  which  made  other  faces  upon  the 
stage  look  sleepy  beside  Margaret  Woffiugton',s.  In  per- 
son she  was  considerably  above  the  middle  height,  and 
so  finely  formed  that  one  could  not  determine  the  exact 
character  of  her  figure.  At  one  time  it  seemed  all  state- 
liness,  at  another  time,  elegance  personified,  and  flowing 
voluptuousness  at  another.  She  was  Juno,  Psyche,  Hebe, 
by  turns,  and  for  aught  we  know  at  will. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  a  sort  of  halo  of  personal 
grandeur  surrounds  a  great  actress.  A  scene  is  set; 
half  a  dozen  nobodies  are  there  lost  in  it,  because  they 
are  and  seem  lumps  of  nothing.  The  great  artist  steps 
upon  that  scene,  and  how  she  fills  it  in  a  moment !  Mind 
and  majesty  wait  upon  her  in  the  air ;  her  person  is  lost  in 
the  greatness  of  her  personal  presence ;  she  dilates  with 
thought,  and  a  stupid  giantess  looks  a  dwarf  beside  her. 

No  wonder  then  that  Mr.  Vane  felt  overpowered  by 
this  torch  in  a  closet.  To  vary  the  metaphor,  it  seemed 
to  him,  as  she  swept  up  and  down,  as  if  the  green-room 
was  a  shell,  and  this  glorious  creature  must  burst  it  and 
be  free.  Meantime,  the  others  saw  a  pretty  actress 
studying  her  business ;  and  Gibber  saw  a  dramatic  school- 
girl learning  what  he  presumed  to  be  a  very  silly  set  of 
words.  Sir  C.  Pomander's  eye  had  been  on  her  the 
moment  she  entered,  and  he  watched  keenly  the  effect 
of  Vane's  eloquent  eulogy ;  but  apparently  the  actress 
was  too  deep  in  her  epilogue  for  anything  else.  She 
came  in,  saying  "  Mum,  mum,  mum,"  over  her  task,  and 
she  went  on  doing  so.  The  experienced  Mr.  Gibber,  who 
had  divined  Vane  in  an  instant,  drew  him  into  a  corner, 
and  complimented  him  on  his  well-timed  eulogy. 

"You  acted  that  mighty  well,  sir,"  said  he.  "Stop 
my  vitals  !  if  I  did  not  think  you  were  in  earnest,  till  I 
saw  the  jade  had  slipped  in  among  us.  It  told,  sir  — 
it  told." 


18  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

Up  fired  Vane.  "  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  said  he. 
"Do  you  suppose  my  admiration  of  that  lady  is  feigned ?  " 

"  No  need  to  speak  so  loud,  sir,"  replied  the  old  gentle- 
man; "she  hears  you.  These  hussies  have  ears  like 
hawks." 

He  then  dispensed  a  private  wink  and  a  public  bow ; 
with  which  he  strolled  away  from  Mr,  Vane,  and  walked 
feebly  and  jauntily  up  the  room,  whisding  "  Fair  Hebe ; " 
fixing  his  eye  upon  the  past,  and  somewhat  ostentatiously 
overlooking  the  existence  of  the  present  company. 

There  is  no  great  harm  in  an  old  gentleman  whistling, 
but  there  are  two  ways  of  doing  it ;  and  as  this  old  beau 
did  it,  it  seemed  not  unlike  a  small  cock-a-doodle-doo  of 
general  defiance ;  and  the  denizens  of  the  green-room, 
swelled  now  to  a  considerable  number  by  the  addition  of 
all  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  had  been  killed  in  the 
fourth  act,  or  whom  the  buttery-fingered  author  could 
not  keep  in  hand  until  the  fall  of  the  curtain,  felt  it  as 
such  ;  and  so  they  were  not  sorry  when  Mrs.  Woffington, 
looking  up  from  her  epilogue,  cast  a  glance  upon  the  old 
beau,  waited  for  him,  and  walked  parallel  with  him  on 
the  other  side  the  room,  giving  an  absurdly  exact  imita- 
tion of  his  carriage  and  deportment.  To  make  this  more 
striking,  she  pulled  out  of  her  pocket,  after  a  mock- 
search,  a  huge  paste  ring,  gazed  on  it  with  a  ludicrous 
affectation  of  simple  wonder,  stuck  it,  like  Gibber's  dia- 
mond, on  her  little  finger,  and  pursing  up  her  mouth, 
proceeded  to  whistle  a  quick  movement, 

"  Which  by  some  devilish  cantrip  sleight," 

played  round  the  old  beau's  slow  movement,  without 
being  at  variance  with  it.  As  for  the  character  of  this 
lady-like  performance,  it  was  clear,  brilliant,  and  loud  as 
blacksmith. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  19 

The  folk  laughed  ;  Vane  was  shocked :  "  She  profanes 
herself  by  whistling,"  thought  he.  Mr.  Gibber  was  con- 
founded. He  appeared  to  have  no  idea  whence  came 
this  sparkling  adagio.  He  looked  round,  placed  his 
hands  to  his  ears,  and  left  off  whistling.  So  did  his 
musical  accomplice. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Gibber,  with  pathetic  gravity, 
"  the  wind  howls  most  dismally  this  evening !  I  took  it 
for  a  drunken  shoemaker  !  " 

At  this  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  except  from  Mr. 
Vane.  Peg  Woffington  laughed  as  merrily  as  the  others, 
and  showed  a  set  of  teeth  that  were  really  dazzling  ;  but 
all  in  one  moment,  without  the  preliminaries  an  ordinary 
countenance  requires,  this  laughing  Venus  pulled  a  face 
gloomy  beyond  conception.  Down  came  her  black  brows 
straight  as  a  line,  and  she  cast  a  look  of  bitter  reproach 
on  all  present ;  resuming  her  study,  as  who  should  say, 
"  Are  ye  not  ashamed  to  divert  a  poor  girl  from  her 
epilogue  ? "  And  then  she  went  on,  "  Mum  !  mum  ! 
mum  ! "  casting  off  ever  and  anon  resentful  glances ;  and 
this  made  the  fools  laugh  again. 

The  Laureate  was  now  respectfully  addressed  by  one 
of  his  admirers,  James  Quin,  the  Falstaff  of  the  day,  and 
the  rival  at  this  time  of  Garrick  in  tragic  characters, 
though  the  general  opinion  was,  that  he  could  not  long 
maintain  a  stand  against  the  younger  genius  and  his 
rising  school  of  art. 

Off  the  stage,  James  Quin  was  a  character ;  his  eccen- 
tricities were  three,  —  a  humorist,  a  glutton,  and  an 
honest  man ;  traits  that  often  caused  astonishment 
and  ridicule,  especially  the  last. 

"  May  we  not  hope  for  sometliing  from  Mr.  Gibber's 
pen  after  so  long  a  silence  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  considerate  reply.  "  Who  have  ye  got 
to  play  it  ?  " 


20  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 

"  Plenty,"  said  Quin  ;  "  there's  your  humble  servant, 
there's  "  — 

"  Humility  at  the  head  of  the  list,"  cried  she  of  the 
epilogue.     "  Mum  !  mum  !  mum  ! " 

Vane  thought  this  so  sharp. 

"  Garrick,  Barry,  Macklin,  Kitty  Clive  here  at  my  side, 
Mrs.  Gibber,  the  best  tragic  actress  I  ever  saw  ;  and 
Woffington,  who  is  as  good  a  comedian  as  you  ever  saw, 
sir,"  and  Quin  turned  as  red  as  fire. 

"  Keep  your  temper.  Jemmy,"  said  Mrs.  Woffington^ 
with  a  severe  accent.     *'  Mum  !  mum  !  mum  ! " 

'•  You  misunderstand  my  question,"  replied  Gibber, 
calmly  ;  "  I  know  your  dramatis  personce,  but  where  the 
devil  are  your  actors  ?  " 

Here  was  a  blow. 

"  The  public,"  said  Quin,  in  some  agitation,  "  would 
snore,  if  we  acted  as  they  did  in  your  time." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  sir  ? "  was  the  supercilious 
rejoinder ;  "  you  never  tried  !  " 

Mr.  Quin  was  silenced.  Peg  Woffington  looked  off 
her  epilogue. 

"Bad  as  we  are,"  said  she,  coolly,  "we  might  be 
worse." 

Mr.  Gibber  turned  round,  slightly  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  he.  "  Madam  !  "  added  he,  with  a 
courteous  smile ;  "  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  explain 
to  me,  how  you  could  be  worse  ?  " 

"  If,  like  a  crab,  we  could  go  backwards  !  " 

At  this  the  auditors  tittered ;  and  Mr.  Gibber  had 
recourse  to  his  spy-glass. 

This  gentleman  was  satirical  or  insolent,  as  the  case 
might  demand,  in  three  degrees,  of  which  the  snuff-box 
was  the  comparative,  and  the  spy-glass  the  superlative. 
He  had  learned  this  on  the  stage  ;  in  annihilating  Quin 
he  had  used  the  snuff  weapon,  and  now  he  di'ew  his  spy- 
glass upon  poor  Peggy. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  21 

"  Whom  have  we  here  ?  "  said  he  ;  then  he  looked  with 
his  spy-glass  to  see ;  "  oh,  the  little  Irish  orange  girl ! " 

"  Whose  basket  outweighed  Colley  Gibber's  salary  for 
the  first  twenty  years  of  his  dramatic  career,"  was  the 
delicate  reply  to  the  above  delicate  remark.  It  staggered 
him  for  a  moment ;  however  he  affected  a  most  puzzled 
air,  then  gradually  allowed  a  light  to  steal  into  his 
features. 

"  Eh  I  ah !  oh !  how  stupid  I  am  ;  I  understand ;  you 
sold  something  besides  oranges !  " 

"Oh!  "  said  Mr.  Vane,  and  colored  up  to  the  temples, 
and  cast  a  look  on  Gibber,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  if  you 
were  not  seventy -three  !  " 

His  ejaculation  was  something  so  different  from  any 
tone  any  other  person  there  present  could  have  uttered, 
that  the  actress's  eye  dwelt  on  him  for  a  single  moment, 
and  in  that  moment  he  felt  himself  looked  through  and 
through. 

"  I  sold  the  young  fops  a  bargain,  you  mean,"  was  her 
calm  reply  ;  "  and  now  I  am  come  down  to  the  old  ones. 
A  truce,  Mr,  Gibber,  what  do  you  understand  by  an 
actor  ?  Tell  me ;  for  I  am  foolish  enough  to  respect 
your  opinion  on  these  matters  ! " 

"An  actor,  young  lady,"  said  he  gravely,  "  is  an  artist 
who  has  gone  deep  enough  in  art,  to  make  dunces,  critics, 
and  greenhorns  take  it  for  nature ;  moreover,  he  really 
personates ;  which  your  mere  7)ian  of  the  stage  never 
does.  He  has  learned  the  true  art  of  self-multiplication. 
He  drops  Betterton,  Booth,  Wilkes,  or,  a^hem  "  — 

"Gibber,"  inserted  Sir  Gharles  Pomander.  Gibber 
bowed. 

"  In  his  dressing-room,  and  comes  out  young  or  old,  a 
fop,  a  valet,  a  lover,  or  a  hero,  with  voice,  mien,  and 
every  gesture  to  match.  A  grain  less  than  this  may  be 
good  speaking,  fine  preaching,  deep  grunting,  high  rant- 


22  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

ing,  eloquent  reciting ;  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  it  is 
acting ! " 

"  Then,  Colley  Gibber  never  acted,"  whispered  Quin  to 
Mrs.  Clive. 

"Then  Margaret  Woffington  is  an  actress,"  said 
M.  W. ;  "  the  fine  ladies  take  my  Lady  Betty  for  their 
sister.  In  Mrs.  Day,  I  pass  for  a  woman  of  seventy  ; 
and  in  Sir  Harry  Wildair  I  have  been  taken  for  a  man. 
I  would  have  told  you  that  before,  but  I  didn't  know  it 
was  to  my  credit,"  said  she  slyly,  "  till  Mr.  Gibber  laid 
down  the  law." 

"  Proof  !  "  said  Gibber. 

"  A  warm  letter  from  one  lady,  diamond  buckles  from 
another,  and  an  offer  of  her  hand  and  fortune  from  a 
third;  rien  que  celaP 

Mr.  Gibber  conveyed  behind  her  back  a  look  of  absolute 
incredulity ;  she  divined  it. 

"  I  will  not  show  you  the  letters,"  continued  she,  "  be- 
cause Sir  Harry,  though  a  rake,  was  a  gentleman ;  but 
here  are  the  buckles,"  and  she  fished  them  out  of  her 
pocket,  capacious  of  such  things.  The  buckles  were 
gravely  inspected,  they  made  more  than  one  eye  water, 
they  were  undeniable. 

"  Well,  let  us  see  what  we  can  do  for  her,"  said  the 
Laureate.  He  tapped  his  box,  and  without  a  moment's 
hesitation  produced  the  most  execrable  distich  in  the 
language. 

*'  Now  who  is  like  Peggy,  with  talent  at  will, 
A  maid  loved  her  Harry, /or  want  of  a  Bill  ?  " 

"  Well,  child,"  continued  he,  after  the  applause  which 
follows  extemporary  verses  had  subsided,  "  take  me  in. 
Play  something  to  make  me  lose  sight  of  saucy  Peg 
Woffington,  and  I'll  give  the  world  five  acts  more  before 
the  curtain  falls  on  Colley  Gibber." 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  23 

"If  you  could  be  deceived,"  put  in  Mr.  Vane,  some- 
what timidly ;  "  I  think  there  is  no  disguise  through 
which  grace  and  beauty  such  as  Mrs.  Woffington's  would 
not  shine,  to  my  eyes." 

"That  is  to  praise  ray  person  at  the  expense  of  my 
wit,  sir,  is  it  not  ?  "  was  her  reply. 

This  was  the  first  word  she  had  ever  addressed  to  him ; 
the  tones  appeared  so  sweet  to  him,  that  he  could  not 
find  anytiiing  to  reply  for  listening  to  them ;  and  Gibber 
resumed : 

"  Meantime,  I  will  show  you  a  real  actress ;  she  is 
coming  here  to-night  to  meet  me.  Did  ever  you  children 
hear  of  Ann  Bracegirdle  ?  " 

"  Bracegirdle  !  "  said  Mrs.  Clive  ;  "  why,  she  has  been 
dead  this  thirty  years ;  at  least,  I  thought  so." 

"  Dead  to  the  stage.  There  is  more  heat  in  her  ashes 
than  in  your  fire,  Kate  Clive  I  Ah  I  here  comes  her 
messenger,"  continued  he,  as  an  ancient  man  appeared 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand.  This  letter  Mrs.  Woffington 
snatched  and  read,  and  at  the  same  instanl  in  bounced 
the  call-boy.  "  Epilogue  called,"  said  this  urchin,  in  the 
tone  of  command  which  these  small  fry  of  Parnassus 
adopt ;  and  obedient  to  his  high  behest,  Mrs.  Woffington 
moved  to  the  door  with  the  Bracegirdle  missive  in  her 
hand,  but  not  before  she  had  delivered  its  general  con- 
tents :  "  The  great  actress  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes," 
said  she,  and  she  glided  swiftly  out  of  the  room. 


24  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


CHAPTER  II. 

People  whose  mind  or  manners  possess  any  feature, 
and  are  not  as  devoid  of  all  eccentricity  as  half-pounds 
of  butter  bought  of  metropolitan  grocers,  are  recom- 
mended not  to  leave  a  roomful  of  their  acquaintances 
until  the  last  but  one.  Yes,  they  should  always  be 
penultimate.  Perhaps  Mrs,  Woffington  knew  this ;  but 
epilogues  are  stubborn  things,  and  call-boys  undeniable. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  a  woman  whistle  before  ?  " 

"  Never ;  but  I  saw  one  sit  astride  on  an  ass  in 
Germany ! " 

"  The  saddle  was  not  on  her  husband,  I  hope,  madam  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  the  husband  walked  by  his  kinsfolk's  side, 
and  made  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain,  as  Peggy's  husband 
will  have  to." 

"  Wait  till  some  one  ventures  on  the  gay  Lotharia  — 
illi  ces  triplex;  that  means  he  must  have  triple  brass, 
Kitty." 

"I  deny  that,  sir;  since  his  wife  will  always  have 
enough  for  both." 

"I  have  not  observed  the  lady's  brass,"  said  Vane, 
trembling  with  passion ;  "  but  I  observed  her  talent,  and 
I  noticed  that  whoever  attacks  her  to  her  face,  comes 
badly  off." 

"Well  said,  sir,"  answered  Quin;  "and  I  wish  Kitty 
here  would  tell  us  why  she  hates  Mrs.  Woffington,  the 
best-natured  woman  in  the  theatre  ?  " 

"  I  don't  hate  her,  I  don't  trouble  my  head  about  her." 

"  Yes,  you  hate  her ;  for  you  never  miss  a  cut  at  her, 
never ! " 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  2S 

"  Do  you  hate  a  haunch  of  venison,  Quia  ?  "  said  the 
lady. 

"  No,  you  little  unnatural  monster,"  replied  Quin. 

"  For  all  that  you  never  miss  a  cut  at  one,  so  hold  your 
tongue ! " 

"  Le  beau  raisonnement  !  "  said  Mr.  Cibber.  "  James 
Quin,  don't  interfere  with  nature's  laws ;  let  our  ladies 
hate  one  another,  it  eases  their  minds  ;  try  to  make  them 
Christians  and  you  will  not  convert  their  tempers,  but 
spoil  your  own.  Peggy  there  hates  George  Anne  Bellamy, 
because  she  has  gaudy  silk  dresses  from  Paris,  by  paying 
for  them  as  she  could,  if  not  too  stingy.  Kitty  here  hates 
Peggy  because  Rich  has  breeched  her,  whereas  Kitty,  who 
now  sets  up  for  a  prude,  wanted  to  put  delicacy  off  and 
small  clothes  on  in  Peg's  stead,  that  is  where  the  Kate 
and  Peg  shoe  pinches,  near  the  femoral  artery,  James. 

"Shrimps  have  the  souls  of  shrimps,"  resumed  this 
censor  castlgatorque  minorum.  "  Listen  to  me,  and  learn 
that  really  great  actors  are  great  in  soul,  and  do  not 
blubber  like  a  great  school-girl  because  Anne  Bellamy  has 
two  yellow  silk  dresses  from  Paris,  as  I  saw  Woffington 
blubber  in  this  room,  and  would  not  be  comforted ;  nor 
fume  like  Kitty  Clive,  because  Woffington  has  a  pair  of 
breeches  and  a  little  boy's  rapier  to  go  a-playing  at  act- 
ing with.  When  I  was  young,  two  giantesses  fought  for 
empire  upon  this  very  stage,  where  now  dwarfs  crack 
and  bounce  like  parched  peas.  They  played  Roxana  and 
Statira  in  the  'Rival  Queens.'  Rival  queens  of  art  them- 
selves, they  put  out  all  their  strength.  In  the  middle  of 
the  last  act  the  town  gave  judgment  in  favor  of  Statira. 
What  did  Roxana  ?  Did  she  spill  grease  on  Statira's 
robe,  as  Peg  Woffington  would  ?  or  stab  her,  as  I  believe 
Kitty  here  capable  of  doing  ?  No  !  Statira  was  never 
so  tenderly  killed  as  that  niglit :  she  owned  this  to  me. 
Roxana  bade  the  theatre  farewell  that  night,  and  wrote 


26  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

to  Statira  thus,  —  I  give  you  word  for  word :  '  Madam, 
the  best  judge  we  have,  has  decided  in  your  favor.  1 
shall  never  play  second  on  a  stage  where  I  have  been 
first  so  long,  but  I  shall  often  be  a  spectator,  and  me- 
thinks  none  will  appreciate  your  talent  more  than  I,  who 
have  felt  its  weight.  My  wardrobe,  one  oi  the  best  in 
Europe,  is  of  no  use  to  me ;  if  you  will  honor  me  by 
selecting  a  few  of  my  dresses  you  will  gratify  me,  and  I 
shall  fancy  I  see  myself  upon  the  stage  to  greater  advan- 
tage than  before.' " 

"  And  what  did  Statira  answer,  sir  ?  "  said  Mr.  Vane, 
eagerly. 

"  She  answered  thus :  '  Madam,  the  town  has  often 
been  wrong,  and  may  have  been  so  last  night,  in  suppos- 
ing that  I  vied  successfully  with  your  merit ;  but  thus 
much  is  certain,  —  and  here,  madam,  I  am  the  best  judge, 
—  that  off  the  stage  you  have  just  conquered  me.  I  shall 
wear  with  pride  any  dress  you  have  honored,  and  shall 
feel  inspired  to  great  exertions  by  your  presence  among 
our  spectators,  unless,  indeed,  the  sense  of  your  magna- 
nimity and  the  recollection  of  your  talent  should  damp 
me  by  the  dread  of  losing  any  portion  of  your  good 
opinion.' " 

"  What  a  couple  of  stiff  old  things,"  said  Mrs.  Clive. 

"  Nay,  madam,  say  not  so,"  cried  Vane,  warmly ; 
"  surely,  this  was  the  lofty  courtesy  of  two  great  minds 
not  to  be  overbalanced  by  strife,  defeat,  or  victory." 

"  What  were  their  names,  sir  ?  " 

"  Statira  was  the  great  Mrs.  Oldfield.  Roxana  you 
will  see  here  to-night." 

This  caused  a  sensation. 

CoUey's  reminiscences  were  interrupted  by  loud 
applause  from  the  theatre ;  the  present  seldom  gives 
the  past  a  long  hearing. 

The  old  war-horse  cocked  his  ears. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  27 

"It  is  Woffingtou  speaking  the  epilogue,"  said  Quin. 

"  Oh !  she  has  got  the  length  of  their  foot,  somehow," 
said  a  small  actress. 

"  And  the  breadth  of  their  hands,  too,"  said  Pomander, 
waking  from  a  nap. 

'•It  is  the  depth  of  their  hearts  she  has  sounded,"  said 
Vane. 

In  those  days,  if  a  metaphor  started  up,  the  poor  thing 
was  coursed  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  torn  limb  from 
jacket;  even  in  Parliament,  a  trope  was  sometimes  hunted 
from  one  session  into  another. 

"You  were  asking  me  about  Mrs.  Oldfield,  sir,"  resumed 
Gibber,  rather  peevishly.  "I  will  own  to  you,  I  lack 
words  to  convey  a  just  idea  of  her  double  and  complete 
supremacy.  But  the  comedians  of  this  day  are  weak- 
strained  farceurs  compared  with  her,  and  her  tragic  tone 
was  thunder  set  to  music. 

"I  saw  a  brigadier-general  cry  like  a  child  at  her 
Indiana;  I  have  seen  her  crying  with  pain  herself  at  the 
wing  (for  she  was  always  a  great  sufferer),  I  have  seen 
her  then  spring  upon  the  stage  as  Lady  Townley,  and  in 
a  moment  sorrow  brightened  into  joy ;  the  air  seemed  to 
fill  with  singing  birds,  that  chirped  the  pleasure  of  fashion, 
love,  and  youth,  in  notes  sparkling  like  diamonds  and 
stars,  and  prisms.  She  was  above  criticism,  out  of  its 
scope,  as  is  the  blue  sky;  men  went  not  to  judge  her, 
they  drank  her,  and  gazed  at  her,  and  were  warmed  at 
her,  and  refreshed  by  her.  The  fops  were  awed  into 
silence,  and  with  their  humbler  betters  thanked  Heaven 
for  her,  if  they  thanked  it  for  anything. 

"  In  all  the  crowded  theatre,  care  and  pain  and  poverty 
were  banished  from  the  memory,  whilst  Oldfield's  face 
spoke,  and  her  tongue  flashed  melodies;  the  lawyer 
forgot  his  quillets  ;  the  polemic,  the  mote  in  his  brother's 
eye ;   the  old  maid,  her  grudge  against  the  two  sexes ; 


28  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 

the  old  man,  his  gray  hairs,  and  his  lost  hours.  And 
can  it  be,  that  all  this,  which  should  have  been  immortal, 
is  quite  —  quite  lost,  is  as  though  it  had  never  been  ?  " 
he  sighed.  "Can  it  be,  that  its  fame  is  now  sustained 
by  me,  who  twang  with  my  poor  lute,  cracked  and  old, 
these  feeble  praises  of  a  broken  lyre : 

•' '  Whose  wires  were  golden,  and  its  heavenly  air 
More  tunable  than  lark  to  shepherd's  ear. 
When  wheat  is  green,  when  hawthorn  buds  api)ear?'" 

He  paused,  and  his  eye  looked  back  over  many  years ; 
then,  with  a  very  different  tone,  he  added : 

"And  that  Jack  Falstaff  there  must  have  seen  her, 
now  I  think  on't." 

"  Only  once,  sir,"  said  Quin,  "  and  I  was  but  ten  years 
old." 

"  He  saw  her  once,  and  he  was  ten  years  old ;  yet  he 
calls  Woffington  a  great  comedian;  and  my  son  The's 
wife,  with  her  hatchet  face,  the  greatest  tragedian  he 
ever  saw  !     Jemmy,  what  an  ass  you  must  be ! " 

"  Mrs.  Gibber  always  makes  me  cry,  and  t'other  always 
makes  me  laugh,"  said  Quin,  stoutly,  "  that's  why." 

Ce  beau  raisonnement  met  no  answer  but  a  look  of 
sovereign  contempt. 

A  very  trifling  incident  saved  the  ladies  of  the  British 
stage  from  further  criticism.  There  were  two  candles 
in  this  room,  one  on  each  side ;  the  call-boy  had  entered, 
and  poking  about  for  something,  knocked  down  and 
broke  one  of  these. 

"  Awkward  imp  !  "  cried  a  velvet  page. 

"I'll  go  to  the  Treasurtj  for  another,  ma'am,"  said  the 
boy,  pertly,  and  vanished  with  the  fractured  wax. 

I  take  advantage  of  the  interruption  to  open  Mr. 
Vane's  mind  to  the  reader.  First  he  had  been  aston- 
ished   at    the    freedom  of    sarcasm   these    people    in- 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  29 

dulged   in  without  quarrelling ;  next  at  the  non-respect 

of  sex. 

"  So  sex  is  not  recognized  in  this  community,"  thought 
he.  Then  the  glibness  and  merit  of  some  of  their 
answers  surprised  and  amused  him.  He,  like  me,  had 
seldom  met  an  imaginative  repartee,  except  in  a  play  or 
a  book.  "Society's"  repartees  were  then  as  they  are 
now,  the  good  old  tree  in  various  dresses  and  veils :  Tic 
quoque,  tu  mentiris,  vos  damnemini  ;  but  he  was  sick  and 
dispirited  on  the  whole ;  such  very  bright  illusions  had 
been  dimmed  in  these  few  minutes. 

She  was  brilliant ;  but  her  manners,  if  not  masculine, 
were  very  daring;  and  yet,  when  she  spoke  to  him,  a 
stranger,  how  sweet  and  gentle  her  voice  was  I  Then  it 
was  clear  nothing  but  his  ignorance  could  have  placed 
her  at  the  summit  of  her  art. 

Still  he  clung  to  his  enthusiasm  for  her.  He  drew 
Pomander  aside.  "What  a  simplicity  there  is  in  Mrs. 
Wofi&ngton,"  said  he ;  "  the  rest,  male  and  female,  are  all 
so  affected;  she  is  so  fresh  and  natural.  They  are  all 
hot-house  plants ;  she  is  a  cowslip  with  the  May  dew 
on  it." 

"What  you  take  for  simplicity,  is  her  refined  art," 
replied  Sir  Charles. 

"  No,"  said  Vane,  "  I  never  saw  a  more  innocent 
creature." 

Pomander  laughed  in  his  face ;  this  laugh  disconcerted 
him  more  than  words.  He  spoke  no  more  —  he  sat  pen- 
sive. He  was  sorry  he  had  come  to  this  place,  where 
everybody  knew  his  goddess ;  yet  nobody  admired, 
nobody  loved,  and  alas  !  nobody  respected  her. 

He  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  a  noise ;  the  noise 
was  caused  by  Gibber  falling  on  Garrick,  whom  Pomander 
had  maliciously  quoted  against  all  the  tragedians  of 
Colley  Gibber's  day. 


30  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

"  1  tell  you,"  cried  the  veteran,  *'  that  this  Garrick  has 
banished  dignity  from  the  stage,  and  given  us  in  exchange 
what  you  and  he  take  for  fire ;  but  it  is  smoke  and  vapor. 
His  manner  is  little,  like  his  person ;  it  is  all  fuss  and 
bustle.  This  is  his  idea  of  a  tragic  scene :  A  little 
fellow  comes  bustling  in,  goes  bustling  about,  and  runs 
bustling  out."  Here  Mr.  Gibber  left  the  room,  to  give 
greater  effect  to  his  description,  but  presently  returned 
in  a  mighty  pother,  saying :  "  '  Give  me  another  horse  ! ' 
Well,  Where's  the  horse  ?  don't  you  see  I'm  waiting  for 
him  ?  '  Bind  up  my  wounds  ! '  Look  sharp  now  with 
these  wounds.  '  Have  mercy,  Heaven ! '  but  be  quick 
about  it,  for  the  pit  can't  wait  for  Heaven.  Bustle ! 
bustle!  bustle!" 

The  old  dog  was  so  irresistibly  funny  that  the  whole 
company  were  obliged  to  laugh ;  but  in  the  midst  of 
their  merriment  Mrs.  Woffington's  voice  was  heard  at 
the  door. 

"  This  way,  madam." 

A  clear  and  somewhat  shrill  voice  replied,  "I  know 
the  way  better  than  you,  child,"  and  a  stately  old  lady 
appeared  on  the  threshold. 

"  Bracegirdle,"  said  Mr.  Gibber. 

It  may  well  be  supposed  that  every  eye  was  turned  on 
this  new-comer  —  that  Roxana  for  whom  Mr.  Gibber's 
story  had  prepared  a  peculiar  interest.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  rich  green  velvet  gown  with  gold  fringe.  Gibber 
remembered  it ;  she  had  played  the  "  Eastern  Queen  "  in 
it.  Heaven  forgive  all  concerned !  It  was  fearfully 
pinched  in  at  the  waist  and  ribs  so  as  to  give  the  idea  of 
wood  inside,  not  woman. 

Her  hair  and  eyebrows  were  iron-gray,  and  she  had 
lost  a  front  tooth,  or  she  would  still  have  been  emi- 
nently handsome.  She  was  tall  and  straight  as  a  dart, 
and  her  noble  port  betrayed  none  of   the  weakness  of 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  31 

age,  only  it  was  to  be  seen  that  her  hands  were  a  little 
weak,  and  the  gold-headed  crutch  struck  the  ground 
rather  sharply,  as  if  it  did  a  little  limbs'-duty. 

Such  was  the  lady  who  marched  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  with  a  "  How  do,  Colley  ?  "  and  looking  over  the 
companA-'s  heads  as  if  she  did  not  see  them,  regarded 
the  four  walls  with  some  interest.  Like  a  cat,  she 
seemed  to  think  more  of  places  than  of  folk.  The  page 
obsequiously  offered  her  a  chair. 

"  Not  so  clean  as  it  used  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Bracegirdle. 

Unfortunately,  in  making  this  remark,  the  old  lady 
graciously  patted  the  page's  head  for  offering  her  the 
chair;  and  this  action  gave,  with  some  of  the  ill- 
constituted  minds  that  are  ever  on  the  titter,  a  ridiculous 
direction  to  a  remark  intended,  I  believe,  for  the  paint 
and  wainscots,  etc. 

"  Nothing  is  as  it  used  to  be,"  remarked  Mr.  Gibber. 

"  All  the  better  for  everything,"  said  Mrs.  Olive. 

"  We  were  laughing  at  this  mighty  little  David,  first 
actor  of  this  mighty  little  age." 

Now  if  Mr.  Gibber  thought  to  find  in  the  new-comer 
an  ally  of  the  past  in  its  indiscriminate  attack  upon  the 
[)resent,  he  was  much  mistaken ;  for  the  old  actress  made 
onslaught  on  this  nonsense  at  once. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  she,  "  and  not  the  first  time  by  many 
hundreds.  'Tis  a  disease  you  have.  Gure  yourself, 
Golley.  Davy  Garrick  pleases  the  public ;  and  in  trifles 
like  acting,  that  take  nobody  to  heaven,  to  please  all  the 
world,  is  to  be  great.  Some  pretend  to  higher  aims,  but 
none  have  'em.  You  may  hide  this  from  young  fools, 
mayhap,  but  not  from  an  old  'oman  like  me.  He,  he, 
he  !     No,  no,  no  —  not  from  an  old  'oman  like  me." 

She  then  turned  round  in  her  chair,  and  with  that 
sudden,  unaccountable  snappishness  of  tone,  to  which 
the  brisk  old  are  subject,  she  snarled,  "  Gie  me  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  some  of  ye,  do  ! " 


32  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 

Tobacco  dust  was  instantly  at  her  disposal.  She  took 
it  with  the  points  of  her  fingers,  delicately,  and  divested 
the  crime  of  half  its  uncleanness  and  vulgarity  —  more 
an  angel  couldn't. 

"  Monstrous  sensible  woman,  though  ! "  Avhispered 
Quin  to  Clive. 

"  Hey,  sir !  what  do  you  say,  sir  ?  for  I'm  a  little 
deaf."     (Not  very  to  praise,  it  seems.) 

"  That  your  judgment,  madam,  is  equal  to  the  reputa- 
tion of  your  talent." 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken,  before  the  old  lady 
rose  upright  as  a  tower.  She  then  made  an  oblique  pre- 
liminary sweep,  and  came  down  with  such  a  courtesy  as 
the  young  had  never  seen. 

James  Quin,  not  to  disgrace  his  generation,  attempted 
a  corresponding  bow,  for  which  his  figure  and  apoplectic 
tendency  rendered  him  unfit ;  and  whilst  he  was  trans- 
acting it,  the  graceful  Gibber  stopped  gravely  up,  and 
looked  down  and  up  the  process  with  his  glass,  like 
a  naturalist  inspecting  some  strange  capriccio  of  an 
orang-outang.  The  gymnastics  of  courtesy  ended  with- 
out back-falls. 

Gibber  lowered  his  tone  : 

"  You  are  right,  Bracy.  It  is  nonsense  denying  the 
young  fellow's  talent;  but  his  Othello,  now,  Bracy!  be 
just  — his  Othello  !" 

"  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear !  "  cried  she  ;  "  I  thought  it  was 
Desdemona's  little  black  boy  come  in  without  the  tea- 
kettle." 

Quin  laughed  uproariously. 

"  It  made  me  laugh  a  deal  more  than  Mr.  Quin's 
Falstaff.     Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear !  " 

"  Falstaif ,  indeed  !     Snuff ! "  in  the  tone  of  a  trumpet. 

Quin  secretly  revoked  his  good  opinion  of  this  woman's 
sense. 


PEG    WOP^FINGTON.  33 

"  Madam,"  said  the  page  timidly,  "  if  you  would  but 
favor  us  with  a  specimen  of  the  old  style  !  " 

"  Well,  child,  why  not  ?  Only  what  makes  you  mum- 
ble like  that  ?  but  they  all  do  it  now,  I  see.  Bless  my 
soul !  our  words  used  to  come  out  like  brandy -cherries ; 
but  now  a  sentence  is  like  raspberry -jam,  on  the  stage 
and  off." 

Gibber  chuckled. 

"  And  why  don't  you  men  carry  yourself  like  Gibber 
here  ?  " 

"  Don't  press  that  question,"  said  Colley  dryly. 

"  A  monstrous  poor  actor,  though,"  said  the  merciless 
old  woman,  in  a  mock  aside  to  the  others ;  "  only  twenty 
shillings  a-week  for  half  his  life  ; "  and  her  shoulders 
went  up  to  her  ears  —  then  she  fell  into  a  half-reverie. 
*'  Yes,  we  were  distinct,"  said  she ;  '•'  but  I  must  own, 
children,  we  were  slow.  Once,  in  the  midst  of  a  beauti- 
ful tirade,  my  lover  went  to  sleep,  and  fell  against  me. 
A  mighty  pretty  epigram,  twenty  lines,  was  writ  on't 
by  one  of  my  gallants.  Have  ye  as  many  of  them  as 
we  used  ?  " 

"  In  that  respect,"  said  the  page,  "  we  are  not  behind 
our  great-grandmothers." 

"  I  call  that  pert,"  said  Mrs.  Braeegirdle,  with  the  air 
of  one  drawing  scientific  distinctions.  *'  Kow,  is  that  a 
boy  or  a  lady  that  spoke  to  me  last  ?  " 

"  By  its  dress,  I  should  say  a  boy,"  said  Gibber,  with 
his  glass  ;  "  by  its  assurance,  a  lady  !  " 

"There's  one  clever  woman  amongst  ye;  Peg  some- 
thing, plays  Lothario,  Lady  Betty  Modish,  and  what  not." 

"  What !  admire  Woffington  ?  "  screamed  Mrs.  Clive  ; 
"  why,  she  is  the  greatest  gabbler  on  the  stage." 

"  I  don't  care,"  was  the  reply,  "  there's  nature  about 
the  jade.  Don't  contradict  me,"  added  she,  with  sudden 
fury  ;  "  a  parcel  of  children." 


34  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

"No,  madam,"  said  Clive  humbly.  "Mr.  Gibber,  will 
you  try  and  prevail  on  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  to  favor  us  with 
a  recitation  ?  " 

Gibber  handed  his  cane  with  pomp  to  a  small  actor. 
Bracegirdle  did  the  same ;  and  striking  the  attitudes 
that  had  passed  for  heroic  in  their  day,  they  declaimed 
out  of  the  "  Rival  Queens  "  two  or  thi-ee  tirades,  which 
I  graciously  spare  the  reader  of  this  tale.  Their  elocu- 
tion was  neat  and  silvery  ;  but  not  one  bit  like  the  way 
people  speak  in  streets,  palaces,  fields,  roads,  and  rooms. 
They  had  not  made  the  grand  discovery,  which  Mr.  A. 
Wigan  on  the  stage,  and  every  man  of  sense  off  it,  has 
made  in  our  day  and  nation ;  namely,  that  the  stage  is  a 
representation  not  of  stage,  but  of  life ;  and  that  an  actor 
ought  to  speak  and  act  in  imitation  of  human  beings, 
not  of  speaking  machines  that  have  run  and  creaked 
in  a  stage  groove,  with  their  eyes  shut  upon  the  world 
at  large,  upon  nature,  upon  truth,  upon  man,  upon 
woman,  and  upon  child. 

"  This  is  slow,"  cried  Gibber ;  "  let  us  show  these 
young  people  how  ladies  and  gentlemen  moved  fifty 
years  ago,  dansons^ 

A  fiddler  was  caught,  a  beautiful  slow  minuet  played, 
and  a  bit  of  "  solemn  dancing  "  done.  Gertainly,  it  was 
not  gay,  but  it  must  be  owned  it  was  beautiful,  it  was 
the  dance  of  kings,  the  poetry  of  the  courtly  saloon. 

The  retired  actress,  however,  had  frisker  notions  left 
in  her :  "  This  is  slow,"  cried  she,  and  bade  the  fiddler 
play,  "  The  wind  that  shakes  the  barley,"  an  ancient  jig 
tune  ;  this  she  danced  to  in  a  style  that  utterly  astounded 
the  spectators. 

She  showed  them  what  fun  was;  her  feet  and  her 
stick  were  all  echoes  to  the  mad  strain ;  out  went  her 
heel  behind,  and  returning,  drove  her  four  yards  for- 
ward.    She  made  unaccountable  slants,  and  cut  them  all 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  35 

over  in  turn  if  they  did  not  jump  for  it.  Roars  of  inex- 
tinguishable laughter  arose,  it  would  have  made  an  oyster 
merry.  Suddenly  she  stopped,  and  put  her  hands  to  her 
sides,  and  soon  after  she  gave  a  vehement  cry  of  pain. 

The  laughter  ceased. 

She  gave  another  cry  of  such  agony,  that  they  were  all 
round  lier  in  a  moment. 

"  Oh !  help  me,  ladies,"  screamed  the  poor  Avoman,  in 
tones  as  feminine  as  they  were  heart-rending  and  piteous. 
"  Oh,  my  back  !  my  loins  !  I  suffer,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
poor  thing  faintly. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  IMr.  Vane  offered  his  penknife 
to  cut  her  laces. 

"  You  shall  cut  my  head  off  sooner,"  cried  she,  with 
sudden  energy.  ''  Don't  pity  me,"  said  she,  sadly,  '•  I 
don't  deserve  it ;  "  then  lifting  her  eyes,  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  sad  air  of  self-reproach  :  "  Oh,  vanity  !  do  you 
never  leave  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Nay,  madam ! "  whimpered  the  page,  who  was  a 
good-hearted  girl ;  *'  'twas  your  great  complaisance  for 
us,  not  vanity.  Oh,  oh,  oh  !  "  and  she  began  to  blubber 
to  make  matters  better. 

"  No,  my  children,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  'twas  vanity. 
I  wanted  to  show  you  what  an  old  'oman  could  do ;  and 
I  have  humiliated  myself,  trying  to  outshine  younger 
folk.  I  am  justly  humiliated,  as  you  see,"  and  she 
began  to  cry  a  little. 

"  This  is  very  painful,"  said  Gibber. 

Mrs.  Bracegirdle  now  raised  her  eyes  (they  had  set 
her  in  a  chair),  and  looking  sweetly,  tenderly,  and  ear- 
nestly on  her  old  companion,  she  said  to  him  slowly, 
gently,  but  impressively  : 

''  Colley,  at  threescore  years  and  ten,  this  was  ill-done 
of  us  !  You  and  I  are  here  now — for  what?  to  cheer 
the  young  up  the  hill  we  mounted  years  ago.     And,  old 

Vol.  9—2 


36  PEG   WOFF1N6TON. 

friend,  if  we  detract  from  them  we  discourage  them.  A 
great  sin  in  the  old !  " 

"  Every  dog  his  day." 

"  We  have  had  ours."  Here  she  smiled,  then  laying 
her  hand  tenderly  in  the  old  man's,  she  added  with  calm 
solemnity :  "  and  now  we  must  go  quietly  towards  our 
rest,  and  strut  and  fret  no  more  the  few  last  minutes  of 
life's  fleeting  hour." 

How  tame  my  cacotype  of  these  words  compared  with 
what  they  were.  I  am  ashamed  of  them  and  myself, 
and  the  human  craft  of  writing,  which,  though  commoner 
far,  is  so  miserably  behind  the  godlike  art  of  speech : 
Si  ipsam  audivisses  ! 

These  ink  scratches,  which  in  the  imperfection  of 
language  we  have  called  words,  till  the  unthinking 
actually  dream  they  are  words,  but  which  are  the  shad- 
ows of  the  corpses  of  words ;  these  word-shadows  then 
were  living  powers  on  her  lips,  and  subdued,  as  eloquence 
ahvays  does,  every  heart  within  reach  of  the  imperial 
tongue. 

The  young  loved  her,  and  the  old  man,  softened  and 
vanquished,  and  mindful  of  his  failing  life,  was  silent, 
and  pressed  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  a  moment ;  then 
he  said : 

"  No,  Bracy  —  no.  Be  composed,  I  pray  you.  She  is 
right.  Young  people,  forgive  me  that  I  love  the  dead 
too  well,  and  the  days  when  I  was  what  you  are  now. 
Drat  the  woman,"  continued  he,  half  ashamed  of  his 
emotion  ;  "  she  makes  us  laugh,  and  makes  us  cry,  just 
as  she  used." 

"  Wha,t  does  he  say,  young  woman  ?  "  said  the  old 
lady,  dryly,  to  Mrs.  Clive. 

"He  says  you  make  us  laugh,  and  make  us  cry, 
madam  ;  and  so  you  do  me,  I'm  sure." 

"And  that's  Peg  Woffington's  notion  of  an  actress! 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  37 

Better  it,  Gibber  and  Bracegirdle,  if  you  can,"  said  tho 
other,  rising  up  like  lightning. 

She  then  threw  Colley  Gibber  a  note,  and  walked 
coolly  and  rapidly  out  ol'  the  room,  without  looking 
once  behind  her. 

The  rest  stood  transhxed,  looking  at  one  another,  and 
at  the  empty  chair.  Then  Gibber  opened  and  read  the 
note  aloud.  It  was  from  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  :  "  Playing  at 
tric-trac ;  so  can't  play  the  fool  in  your  green-room  to- 
night. —  B." 

On  this,  a  musical  ringing  laugh  was  heard  from  out- 
side the  door,  where  the  pseudo  Bracegirdle  was  washing 
the  gray  from  her  hair,  and  the  wrinkles  from  her  face 
—  ah  !  I  wish  I  could  do  it  as  easily,  —  and  the  little 
bit  of  sticking-plaster  from  her  front  tooth. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  Irish  jade  !  "  roared  Gibber. 

"  Divil  a  less  ! "  rang  back  a  rich  brogue ;  "  and  it's 
not  the  furst  time  we  put  the  comether  upon  ye,  England, 
my  jewal ! " 

One  more  mutual  glance,  and  then  the  mortal  clever- 
ness of  all  this  began  to  dawn  on  their  minds  ;  and  they 
broke  forth  into  clapping  of  hands,  and  gave  this  accom- 
plished mime  three  rounds  of  applause ;  Mr.  Vane  and 
Sir  Gharles  Pomander  leading  with  "Brava,  Woffington  I " 

Its  effect  on  Mr.  Vane  may  be  imagined.  Who  but 
she  could  have  done  this  ?  This  was  as  if  a  painter 
should  so  paint  a  man  as  to  deceive  his  species.  This 
Avas  acting,  but  not  like  the  acting  of  the  stage.  He  was 
in  transports,  and  self-satisfaction  at  his  own  judgment 
mingled  pleasantly  with  his  admiration. 

In  this  cheerful  exhibition,  one  joined  not  —  Mr. 
Gibber.  His  theories  had  received  a  shock  (and  Ave  all 
love  our  theories).  He  himself  had  received  a  rap,  and 
we  don't  hate  ourselves. 

Grer  t  is  the  syllogism  !  But  there  is  a  class  of  argu- 
ments less  vulnerable. 


38  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

If  A  says  to  B,  "  You  can't  hit  me,  as  1  prove  by  this 
syllogism  "  (here  followeth  the  syllogism),  and  B,  pour 
toute  reponse,  knocks  A  down  such  a  whack  that  he  re- 
bounds into  a  sitting  posture  ;  and  to  him  the  man,  the 
tree,  the  lamp-post,  and  the  fire-escape,  become  not  clearly 
distinguishable  ;  this  barbarous  logic  prevails  against  the 
logic  in  Barbara,  and  the  syllogism  is  in  the  predicament 
of  Humpty  Dumpty. 

In  this  predicament  was  the  Poet  Laureate.  -'The 
miscreant  Proteus  (could  not)  escape  these  chains ! " 
So  the  miscreant  Proteus  —  no  bad  name  for  an  old 
actor  —  took  his  little  cocked  hat  and  marched ;  a 
smaller,  if  not  a  wiser  man.  Some  disjointed  words 
fell  from  him  :  "Mimicry  is  not  acting,"  etc. ;  and  with 
one  bitter,  mowing  glance  at  the  applauders,  clrcum- 
ferens  acriter  oculos,  he  vanished  in  the  largest  pinch 
of  snuff  on  record.     The  rest  dispersed  more  slowly. 

Mr.  Vane  waited  eagerly,  and  watched  the  door  for 
Mrs.  Woffington  ;  but  she  did  not  come.  He  then  made 
acquaintance  with  good-natured  Mr.  Quin,  who  took  him 
upon  the  stage,  and  showed  him  by  what  vulgar  appli- 
ances that  majestic  rise  of  the  curtain  he  so  admired  was 
effected.  Returning  to  the  green-room  for  his  friend,  he 
found  him  in  animated  conversation  with  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton.    This  made  Vane  uneasy. 

Sir  Charles,  up  to  the  present  moment  of  the  evening, 
had  been  unwontedly  silent,  and  now  he  was  talking 
nineteen  to  the  dozen,  and  Mrs.  Woffington  was  listen- 
ing with  an  appearance  of  interest  that  sent  a  pang  to 
poor  Vane's  heart ;  he  begged  Mr.  Quin  to  introduce 
him. 

Mr.  Quin  introduced  him. 

The  lady  received  his  advances  with  polite  composure. 
Mr.  Vane  stammered  his  admiration  of  her  Bracegirdle  ; 
but  all  he  could  find  words  to  say,  was  mere  general 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  39 

praise,  and  somewhat  coldly  received.  Sir  Charles,  on 
the  contrary,  spoke  more  like  a  critic.  ''  Had  you  given 
us  the  stage  cackle,  or  any  of  those  traditionary  symp- 
toms of  old  age,  we  should  have  instantly  detected  you," 
said  he ;  "but  this  was  art  copying  nature,  and  it  may  be 
years  before  such  a  triumph  of  illusion  is  again  effected 
under  so  many  adverse  circumstances." 

"You  are  very  good.  Sir  Charles,"  was  the  reply. 
"You  flatter  me.  It  Avas  one  of  those  things  Avhich 
look  greater  than  they  are  ;  nobody  here  knew  Brace- 
girdle  but  Mt.  Cibber ;  Mr.  Cibber  cannot  see  well  with- 
out his  glasses,  and  I  got  rid  of  one  of  the  candles  ;  I 
sent  one  of  the  imps  of  the  theatre  to  knock  it  down. 
I  know  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  by  heart.  I  drink  tea  with  her 
every  Sunday.  I  had  her  dress  on,  and  I  gave  the  old 
boy  her  words  and  her  way  of  thinking ;  it  was  mere 
mimicry ;  it  was  nothing  compared  with  what  I  once 
did  ;  but,  a-hem  ! " 

"Pray  tell  us!" 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  shock  your  friend.  I  see  he  is 
not  a  wicked  man  like  you,  and  perhaps  does  not  know 
what  good-for-nothing  creatures  actresses  are." 

"He  is  not  so  ignorant  as  he  looks,"  replied  Sir 
Charles. 

"That  is  not  quite  the  answer  I  expected,  Sir  Charles," 
replied  this  lively  lady ;  "but  it  serves  me  right  for  fish- 
ing on  dry  land.  Well  then,  you  must  know  a  young 
gentleman  courted  me.  I  forget  whether  I  liked  him  or 
not ;  but  you  will  fancy  I  hated  him,  for  I  promised  to 
marry  him.  You  must  understand,  gentlemen,  that  I 
was  sent  into  the  world,  not  to  act,  Avhich  I  abominate, 
but  to  chronicle  small  beer  and  teach  an  army  of  little 
brats  their  letters  ;  so  this  word  '  wife,'  and  that  word 
'chimney-corner,'  took  possession  of  my  mind,  and  a 
vision  of  darning  stockings  for  a  large  party,  all  my 


40  PEG  WOFFINGTOIST. 

own,  filled  my  heart,  and  really  I  felt  quite  grateful  to 
the  little  brute  that  was  to  give  me  all  this  ;  and  he 
would  have  had  such  a  wife  as  men  never  do  have,  still 
less  deserve,  but  one  fine  day  that  the  theatre  left  me 
time  to  examine  his  manner  towards  me,  I  instantly 
discovered  he  was  deceiving  me.  So  I  had  him  Vt^atched, 
and  the  little  brute  was  going  to  marry  another  woman, 
and  break  it  to  me  by  degrees  afterwards,  etc.  You 
know,  Sir  Charles  ?     Ah  !  I  see  you  do. 

"  I  found  her  out ;  got  an  introduction  to  her  father  ; 
went  down  to  his  house  three  days  before  the  marriage, 
with  a  little  coal-black  mustache,  regimentals,  and  what 
not ;  made  up,  in  short,  with  the  art  of  my  sex,  gentle- 
men —  and  the  impudence  of  yours. 

"The  first  day  I  flirted  and  danced  with  the  bride. 
The  second  I  made  love  to  her,  and  at  night  I  let  her 
know  that  her  intended  was  a  villain.  1  showed  her  letters 
of  his  ;  protestations,  oaths  of  eternal  fidelity  to  one  Peg 
Woffington,  '  who  will  die,'  drawled  I,  '  if  he  betrays  her.' 

"And  here,  gentlemen,  mark  the  justice  of  Heaven. 
I  received  a  back-handed  slap :  '  Peg  \Yoffington !  an 
actress  !  Oh,  the  villain  ! '  cried  she  ;  '  let  him  marry 
the  little  vagabond.  How  dare  he  insult  me  with  his 
hand  that  had  been  offered  in  such  a  quarter  ? ' 

"So,  in  a  fit  of  virtuous  indignation,  tlie  little  hypocrite 
dismissed  the  little  brute  ;  in  other  words,  she  had  fallen 
in  love  with  me. 

"  I  have  not  had  many  happy  hours,  but  1  remember 
it  was  delicious  to  look  out  of  my  window,  and  at  the 
same  moment  smell  the  honeysuckles  and  see  my  perfidc 
dismissed  under  a  heap  of  scorn  and  a  pile  of  luggage  ho 
had  brought  down  for  his  wedding  tour. 

"  I  scampered  up  to  London,  laughiug  all  tlie  way ;  and 
when  I  got  home,  if  I  remember  right,  1  cried  for  two 
hours.     How  do  you  account  for  that  ?  " 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  41 

"I  hope,  madam."  said  Vane,  gravely,  '-it  was  remorse 
for  having  trifled  with  tliat  poor  young  lady's  lieart ;  she 
had  never  injured  you." 

"But,  sir,  the  husband  T  robbed  her  of  was  a  brute 
and  a  villain  in  his  little  way,  and  wicked,  and  good-for- 
nothing,  etc.  He  would  have  deceived  that  poor  little 
hypocrite,  as  he  had  this  one,"  pointing  to  herself. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean ;  you  inspired  her  with  an 
attachment,  never  to  be  forgotten.  Poor  lady !  how 
many  sleepless  nights  has  she  passed  since  then,  how 
many  times  has  she  strained  her  eyes  to  see  her  angel 
lover  returning  to  her?  She  will  not  forget  in  two 
years  the  love  it  cost  you  but  two  days  to  inspire.  The 
powerful  should  be  merciful.  Ah  !  I  fear  you  have  no 
heart." 

These  words  had  no  sooner  burst  from  Mr.  Vane  than 
he  was  conscious  of  the  strange  liberty  he  had  taken, 
and,  indeed,  the  bad  taste  he  had  been  guilty  of;  and 
this  feeling  was  not  lessened  when  he  saw  IMrs.  "Woffing. 
ton  color  up  to  the  temples.  Her  eyes,  too,  glittered  like 
basilisks  ;  but  she  said  nothing,  which  was  remarkable  in 
her,  whose  tongue  was  the  sword  of  a  vnaitre  d'armes. 

Sir  Charles  eyed  his  friend  in  a  sly,  satirical  manner ; 
he  then  said,  laughingly,  "  In  two  months  she  married  a 
third  !  don't  waste  your  sympathy,"  and  turned  the  talk 
into  another  channel ;  and  soon  after,  Mrs.  Woffington's 
maid  appearing  at  the  door,  she  courtesied  to  both  gentle- 
men and  left  the  theatre.  Sir  Charles  Pomander  accom- 
panied Mr.  Vane  a  little  way. 

"What  becomes  of  her  innocence?"  was  his  first 
word. 

"  One  loses  sight  of  it  in  her  immense  talent,"  said  the 
lover. 

"She  certainl}'  is  clever  in  all  that  bears  upon  her 
business,"  was  the  reply  ;    "  but  I  noticed  you  were  a 


42  1'F.r,    wmKINGTON. 

littli'  shf)okr<l  witli  Imt  itwlrlir.-wy  in  tf^llin;:  us  tlutt 
Htorv,  and  still  inon;  in  having  it  to  t«'II." 

"Inilelicaey '.'  No!"  said  Vane;  "thr  littl.-  I>n»t<» 
d»'H»'rvod  it.  CyjKxl  Heavens!  to  think  that  '.i  litth' 
l»rut«' '  niifjht  have  married  that  ani;»-l.  .-md  :n'tn,illy 
broke  faith  to  lose  her;  it  is  inrredil)h';  tlie  ciinu'  is 
diluted  by  the  absurdity." 

'•  Have  you  heard  hini  tell  the  .story  '.'  Ni> '.'  'IMien  take 
my  wonl  for  it  you  have  not  hoard  tlie  fa4-tst>t  the  ease." 

"Ah  !  you  are  prejiulired  aj;:iinst  her?" 

"On  the  contniry,  I  like  her.  Hut  I  know  that  with 
all  Women  the  present  lover  is  an  ani,'el  and  the  past  a 
demon,  and  .so  on  in  turn.  And  I  know  that  if  Satan 
were  to  enter  the  women  of  the  stage,  with  the  wild  idea 
ol  inipairiii);  their  veracity,  he  would  eome  out  of  their 
minds  a  greater  liar  than  he  went  in,  and  the  inniM'ent 
darlinj^s  wouhi  never  know  their  spiritual  father  had 
l)een  at  them." 

Doubtfiil  wlw'ther  this  sentiment  .ind  period  oould  be 
improved.  Sir  Charles  parted  with  his  Iriend.  leaving  his 
stinjj  in  him  liko  a  friend  ;  the  other's  reflections  as  he 
sauntered  home  were  not  strictly  those  of  a  wise,  well- 
balaneed  mind,  they  ran  in  this  stylo: 

'•  When  she  said  :  •  Is  not  that  to  praise  my  person  at 
the  expense  of  my  wit'."  I  ought  to  have  said:  *  Nay, 
madam;  eould  your  wit  fUs^iise  your  person,  it  would 
betray  itself,  so  you  would  still  shine  confessed,'  and  in- 
stead of  that  I  said  nothing  ! '' 

He  then  ran  over  in  his  mind  all  the  opportunities  he 
had  had  for  putting  in  something  smart,  and  bitterly 
regretted  those  lost  opportunities ;  and  made  the  smart 
things,  and  beat  the  air  with  them.  Then  his  cheeks 
tingled  when  he  remembered  that  he  had  almost  scolded 
her ;  and  he  concocted  a  very  different  speech,  and 
straightway  repeated  it  in  imagination. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  43 

This  is  lover's  pastime ;  I  own  it  funny;  but  it  is  open 
to  one  objection;  this  single  practice  of  sitting  upon  eggs 
no  longer  chickenable,  carried  to  a  habit,  is  capable  of 
turning  a  solid  intellect  into  a  liquid  one,  and  ruining  a 
mind's  career. 

We  leave  Mr.  Vane,  therefore,  with  a  hope  that  he  will 
not  do  it  every  night ;  and  we  follow  his  friend  to  the 
close  of  our  chapter. 
Hey  for  a  definition  ! 

What  is  diplomacy  ?  Is  it  folly  in  a  coat  that  looks 
like  sagacity?  Had  Sir  Charles  Pomander,  instead  of 
watching  .Air.  Vane  and  Mrs.  Woffiugton,  asked  the 
former  whether  he  admired  the  latter,  and  whether  the 
latter  responded,  straightforward  Vane  would  have  told 
him  the  whole  truth  in  a  minute.  Diplomacy  therefore 
was,  as  it  often  is,  a  waste  of  time. 

But  diplomacy  did  more  in  this  case,  it  sapienter 
descendebat  iJi  fossam ;  it  fell  on  its  nose  with  gymnastic 
dexterity,  as  it  generally  does,  upon  uiy  word. 

To  watch  Mrs.  Woffington's  face  vis-a-vis  Mr.  Vane, 
Pomander  introduced  Vane  to  the  green-room  of  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Covent  Garden.  By  this  Pomandei- 
learned  nothing,  because  Mrs.  Woffington  had,  with  a 
wonderful  appearance  of  openness,  the  closest  face  in 
Europe  when  she  chose. 

On  the  other  hand,  by  introducing  this  country  gentle- 
man to  this  green-room,  he  gave  a  mighty  impulse  and 
opportunity  to  Vane's  love;  an  opportunity  Avhich  he 
forgot  the  timid,  inexperienced  Damon  might  otherwise 
never  have  found. 

Here  diplomacy  was  not  policy,  for,  as  my  sagacious 
reader  has  perhaps  divined,  Sir  Charles  Pomander  was 
after  her  h  imself. 


U  I'Kli    WOFFIXUTON. 


CHArTKK   III. 

Yks:  Sir  Charles  wjif«  a/trr  Miss  Wottinjfton.  I  use 
t  ■  "    ••  ^»MUTic  onv,  HUituble  to 

Mr.  Vane's  sentimcuUi  were  an  incxpUcuble  rompouml ; 
l>iit  respect,  enthusiasm,  ami  ileep  aiiminition  werr  the 
up|K>ruiust. 

Tht'  giKxl  Sir  Churli'S  wus  nu  eui^tua  :  lit*  hail  u  vacancy 
in  his  estublishnttnit  —  a  very  high  .situatiun,  too,  fur 
tliose  who  likt!  that  sort  of  thing  —  thi'  ht-ad  of  his  tiible, 
his  1  w  luMi   h»*  »lrov«*  <rk,  etc.     To  tliis 

he  pi'  ^  '  promote  Mi.s.s  ^\  She. was  han<l- 

some  and  witty,  and  he  liked  her.  But  that  was  not 
\vhat  eau.s(>«l  him  to  pursue  hi>r;  slow,  sagacious,  inevi- 
table, as  a  Ix'agle. 

She  was  celebrutfd,  aud  would  confer  great  eclat  on 
him.  Th»'  .scandal  of  posscssinj;  her  was  a  burning  temjv 
tation.  Women  admin"  lu'h-brity  in  a  man;  but  meu 
ailore  it  in  a  woman. 

"The  world."  •'.•lys  I'hilip,  '*  is  !i  f:iinnus  man; 
What  will  not  women  love  so  taii^'ht  ?  " 

I  will  try  to  answer  this  question. 

The  women  will  more  rea«lily  forgive  disgusting  phys- 
ical (lotormity  for  famo'.s  sak«'  than  wo.  They  would 
embra»;e  with  more  rapture  a  famous  orang-outang,  than 
we  an  illustrious  chimpanzee;  but  when  it  comes  to 
moral  deformity  the  tables  are  turned. 

Had  the  Queen  pardoned  Mr.  Greenacre  and  Mrs.  Man- 
ning, would  the   great  rush  have  been  on  the  hero,  or 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  45 

the  heroine  ?  Why,  ou  Mrs.  Macbeth  !  To  her  would  the 
blackguards  have  brought  honorable  proposals,  and  the 
gentry  liberal  ones. 

Greenacre  would  have  found  more  female  admirers 
than  I  ever  shall ;  but  the  grand  stream  of  sexual  admi- 
ration would  have  set  Mariawards.  This  fact  is  as  dark 
us  night ;  but  it  is  as  sure  as  the  sun. 

The  next  day  the  "friends  "  (most  laughable  of  human 
substantives  !)  met  in  the  theatre,  and  again  visited  the 
green-room ;  and  this  time  Vane  determined  to  do  himself 
more  justice.  He  was  again  disappointed ;  the  actress's 
manner  was  ceremoniously  polite.  She  was  almost  con- 
stantly on  the  stage,  and  in  a  hurry  when  oif  it;  and 
when  there  was  a  word  to  be  got  with  her,  the  ready, 
glib  Sir  Charles  was  sure  to  get  it.  Vane  could  not 
help  thinking  it  hard  that  a  man  who  professed  no 
respect  for  her,  should  thus  keep  the  light  from  him  ; 
and  he  could  hardly  conceal  his  satisfaction,  when  Poman- 
der, at  night,  bade  him  farewell  for  a  fortnight.  Pressing 
business  took  Sir  Charles  into  the  country. 

The  good  Sir  Charles,  however,  could  not  go  without 
leaving  his  sting  behind  as  a  companion  to  his  friend. 
He  called  on  Mr.  Vane,  and  after  a  short  preface,  con- 
taining the  words,  "  our  friendship,"  "  old  kindness," 
"  my  greater  experience,"  he  gravely  w^arned  him  against 
Mrs.  Woffington. 

"  Not  that  I  would  say  this  if  you  could  take  her  for 
what  she  is,  and  amuse  yourself  with  her  as  she  will 
with  you,  if  she  thinks  it  worth  her  while.  But  I  see 
you  have  a  heart,  and  she  will  make  a  football  of  it,  and 
torment  you  beyond  all  you  have  ever  conceived  of 
human  anguish." 

Mr.  Vane  colored  high,  and  was  about  to  interrupt  the 
speaker ;  but  he  continued  : 

"  There,  I  am  in  a  hurry.     But  ask  Quin,  or  anybody 


4G  i'E<;   \v<»i-HNt;ToN, 

who  knows  lier  history,  you  will  find  sho  li;is  had  scores 
of  lovers,  ami  no  one  remains  her  friend  alter  they 
part." 

"  Men  are  such  villains  !  " 

"  Very  likely,"  was  the  reply;  "but  twenty  men  don't 
ill-use  oiu'  good  woman  :  those  are  not  tin-  jiiojK)rtions. 
Adieu !  " 

This  last  hit  frightened  Mr.  Vane,  he  began  to  look 
into  hiniscdf ;  he  eould  not  but  feel  that  he  was  a  mere 
child  in  this  woman's  hands;  and  more  than  that,  his 
conscienei'  told  him  that  if  his  heart  should  be  made  a 
football  of,  it  would  only  be  a  just  and  ])rolKible  jiunish- 
ment.  For  there  were  particular  reasons  why  he,  of  all 
men,  luid  no  business  to  hnik  twice  at  any  woman  whose 
name  was  WoHington. 

That  night  he  avoided  the  green-room,  thougli  he  eould 
not  forego  the  play ;  l)ut  the  next  night  he  determined 
to  stay  at  home  altogether.  Accordingly,  at  five  o'clock, 
the  astounded  box-keeper  wore  a  visage  of  dismay  — 
there  was  no  shilling  for  him  I  and  Mr,  Vane's  nightly 
shilling  luul  assumed  tlie  sanctity  of  salary  in  his  mind. 

Mr.  Vane  strolled  disconsolate;  lie  strolled  by  the 
Thames,  he  strolled  up  and  down  the  Strand ;  and, 
fi'nally,  having  often  admired  the  wisdom  of  moths  in 
their  gradual  approach  to  what  is  not  good  for  them,  he 
strolled  into  the  green-room,  Covent  Garden,  and  sat 
down.  When  there  iie  did  not  feel  happy.  Besides, 
she  had  always  been  cold  to  him,  and  had  given  no  sign 
of  desiring  his  acquaintance,  still  less  of  recognition. 

^Ir.  Vane  had  often  seen  a  weathercock  at  work,  and 
he  had  heard  a  woman  compared  to  it ;  but  he  had  never 
realized  the  simplicity,  beauty,  and  justice  of  the  simile. 
He  was  therefore  surprised,  as  well  as  thrilled,  when 
Mrs.  Wofiington,  so  cool,  ceremonious,  and  distant  hith- 
erto, walked  up  to  him  in  the  green-room  with  a  face  quite 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  47 

wreathed  in  smiles,  and  without  preliminary,  thanked 
him  for  all  the  beautiful  flowers  he  had  sent  her. 

"What,  Mrs.  Woffington  —  what,  you  recognize  me  ?" 
"  Of  course,  and  have  been  foolish  enough  to  feel  quite 
supported  by  the  thought,  I  had  at  least  one  friend  in 
the  house.  But,"  said  she,  looking  down,  <^now  you 
must  not  be  angry ;  here  are  some  stones  that  have  fallen 
somehow  among  the  flowers ;  I  am  going  to  give  you 
them  back,  because  I  value  flowers,  so  I  cannot  have 
them  mixed  with  anything  else  ;  but  don't  ask  me  for  a 
flower  back,"  added  she,  seeing  the  color  mount  on  his 
face,  "  for  I  would  not  give  one  of  them  to  you,  or  any- 
body." 

Imagine  the  effect  of  this  on  a  romantic  disposition 

like  Mr.  Vane's. 

He  told  her  how  glad  he  was  that  she  could  distinguish 
his  features  amidst  the  crowd  of  her  admirers ;  he  con- 
fessed he  had  been  mortified  when  he  found  himself,  as 
he  thought,  entirely  a  stranger  to  her. 

She  interrupted  him. 

<'Do  you  know  your  friend  Sir  Charles  Pomander? 
No!  I  am  almost  sure  you  do;  well,  he  is  a  man  I  do 
not  like.  He  is  deceitful,  besides  he  is  a  wicked  man. 
There,  to  be  plain  with  you,  he  was  watching  me  all 
that  night,  the  first  time  you  came  here,  and  because  I 
saw  he  was  watching  me,  I  would  not  know  who  you 
were,  nor  anything  about  you."  ^^ 

•'But  you  looked  as  if  you  had  never  seen  me  before.^^ 
«  Of  course  I  did,  when  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to," 
said  the  actress,  naively. 

"  Sir  Charles  has  left  London  for  a  fortnight,  so  if  he 
is  the  only  obstacle,  I  hope  you  will  know  me   every 

night."  „ 

"  Why,  you  sent  me  no  flowers  yesterday,  or  to-day. 

"  But  I  will  to-morrow," 


48  PI-:*!    WnFKINr.TOX. 

"Then  1  ;im  sure  1  hIiuII  kiH)w  vuur  fare  aguin : 
go<)d-hy.  Won't  you  Hve  me  in  the  last  art.  and  tt-ll  me 
how  ill  I  do  it '.'  " 

**Oh,  yos!"  and  he  hurried  to  his  box,  and  art  tlie 
atrtreas  8»K-urptl  one  pair  of  liaiids  for  hrr  last  lu-t. 

He  rrturned  t«)  thr  ijnMMi-room,  but  slio  did  not  n'visit 
that  v»*rdunt   bower.      The   next   ni^ht,  after  the  usual 

eOIQplilUentS,  s)l>'   sni.i    t..  liim     liM.kni"  duuii   uitli    :(   swt'ff. 

enjfufjinjj  air, 

"I  sent  a  niesiieai^'ir  iiitu  Uu-  tounlry  Ui  knuw  .4,b»)Ut 
ihal  laily." 

"  What  huly  f  "  said  Vane,  soarci'ly  believing  his  senses. 

'*  That  you  were  so  unkind  to  nie  about." 

**  I,  unkind  to  you  ".'  what  a  brute  I  must  b«'  I  " 

••  My  meaning  is,  you  justly  rebuked  me,  only  you 
should  not  tell  an  actresH  she  hai>  no  ht>art  —  that  is 
always  understoutl.  Well,  Sir  Charles  Pomander  said 
she  uiarriejl  a  third  in  two  months  !  " 

"  And  did  she  '.'  " 

"  No,  it  was  in  six  weeks:  that  man  never  t^dls  the 
truth;  an<l  since  then  she  has  married  a  fourth." 

-1  am  glad  of  it!" 

'•So  am  1,  since  you  awakenetl  my  eonscience." 

l>elieious  flattery  !  and  of  all  flattery  the  sweetest 
when  a  sweet  creature  docs  flattery,  not  merely  utters  it. 

After  this  Vane  made  no  more  stniggh'S ;  he  surren- 
dered himself  to  the  charming  seduction,  and  as  his 
advances  were  respectful,  but  ardent  and  incessant,  he 
found  himself  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Mrs.  Woftingt<m'3 
})rofossed  lover. 

They  A\Tote  letters  to  «'ach  other  every  day.  On  Sun- 
day they  went  to  church  together  in  the  morning,  and 
spent  the  afternoon  in  the  suburbs  wherever  grass  was 
and  duiit  was  not. 

In    the    next    fortnight,    jxxir    \'ane    thought    he    hud 


PEG    WOFJb'lNGTUK.  4S^ 

pretty  well  fathomed  this  extraordiuary  woman's  char- 
acter. Plumb  the  Atlantic  with  an  eighty  fathom  line, 
sir! 

"She  is  religious,"  said  he,  "she  loves  a  church  much 
better  than  a  play-house,  and  she  never  laughs  nor  goes 
to  sleep  in  church  as  I  do.  And  she  is  breaking  me  of 
swearing  —  by  degrees.  She  says  that  no  fashion  can 
justify  what  is  profane,  and  that  it  must  be  vulgar  as 
well  as  wicked.  And  she  is  frankness  and  simplicity 
itself." 

Another  thing  that  charmed  him  was  her  disinterest- 
edness. She  ordered  him  to  buy  her  a  present  every 
day,  but  it  was  never  to  cost  above  a  shilling.  If  an 
article  could  be  found  that  cost  exactly  tenpence  (a 
favorite  sum  of  hers),  she  was  particularly  pleased,  and 
these  shilling  presents  were  received  with  a  flush  of 
pleasure  and  brightening  eyes  :  but  when  one  day  he 
appeared  with  a  diamond  necklace,  it  was  taken  very 
coldl)%  he  was  not  even  thanked  for  it,  and  he  was  made 
to  feel,  once  for  all,  that  the  tenpenny  ones  were  the 
best  investments  towards  her  favor. 

Then  he  found  out  that  she  was  very  prudent  and 
rather  stingy ;  of  Spartan  simplicity  in  her  diet,  and  a 
scqrner  of  dress  off  the  stage.  To  redeem  this  she  was 
charitable,  and  her  charity  and  her  economy  sometimes 
had  a  sore  fight,  during  which  she  was  peevish,  poor 
little  soul. 

One  day  she  made  him  a  request. 

"I  can't  bear  you  should  think  me  worse  than  I  am, 
and  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  better  than  I  am." 

Vane  trembled. 

''  But  don't  speak  to  others  about  me  ;  promise,  and  I 
will  promise  to  tell  you  my  whole  story  whenever  you 
are  entitled  to  such  a  confidence." 

"  When  shall  I  be  entitled  to  it  ?  " 


50  PEG    WOFFLNGTON. 

"  When  I  am  sure  you  love  me." 

"  Do  you  doubt  that  now  ?  " 

"Yes!     I  tliink  you  lov*'  me,  hut  I  am  not  sure." 

"Margaret,  rememher  1  have  known  you  much  longer 
than  you  have  known  me.'' 

u  ]^'o !  " 

"  Yes  !  Two  months  liefore  we  ever  spoke  I  lived 
upon  your  fare  and  voice." 

"That  is  to  say  you  looked  from  your  box  at  me  upon 
the  stage,  and  did  not  1  look  from  the  stage  at  you '.' " 

"Never!  you  always  looked  at  the  pit,  and  my  heart 
used  to  sink." 

"On  the  17th  of  May  you  first  came  into  that  box.  I 
noticed  you  a  little,  the  next  day  I  noticed  you  a  little 
more ;  1  saw  you  fancied  you  liked  me,  after  awhile  I 
could  not  have  played  without  you." 

Here  was  delicious  flattery  again,  and  poor  Vane  be- 
lieved every  word  of  it. 

As  for  her  request  and  her  promise,  she  showed  her 
wisdom  in  both  these.  As  .Sir  Charles  observed,  it  is  a 
wonderful  i)oint  gained  if  you  allow  a  w(»man  to  tell  her 
story  her  own  way. 

How  the  few  facts  that  are  allowed  to  remain,  get 
moulded  and  twisted  out  of  ugly  forms  into  pretty  shapes 
by  those  supple,  tle-\terous  fingers  I 

This  present  story  cannot  give  the  life  of  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington,  but  only  one  great  passage  therein,  as  do  the 
epic  and  dramatic  writers  ;  but  since  there  was  often 
great  point  in  any  sentences  spoken  on  important  occa- 
sions by  this  lady,  I  will  just  quote  her  defence  of  her- 
self. The  reader  may  be  sure  she  did  not  play  her 
weakest  card ;  let  us  give  her  the  benefit. 

One  day  she  and  Kitty  Clive  were  at  it  ding-dong; 
the  green-room  was  full  of  actors,  male  and  female,  but 
there   were    no  strangers,  and    the    ladies   were  saying 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  51 

things  which  the  men  of  this  generation  only  think  ;  at 
last  Mrs.  Woffington  finding  herself  roughly,  and,  as  she 
thought,  unjustly  handled,  turned  upon  the  assembly 
and  said,  "  What  man  did  ever  I  ruin  in  all  my  life  ? 
Speak,  v/ho  can  ! " 

And  there  was  a  dead  silence. 

"What  woman  is  there  here  at  as  much  as  three 
pounds  per  week  even,  that  hasn't  ruined  two  at  the 
very  least  ?  " 

Report  says  there  was  a  dead  silence  again,  until  Mrs. 
Clive  perked  up,  and  said  she  had  only  ruined  one,  and 
that  was  his  own  fault ! 

Mrs.  Woffington  declined  to  attach  weight  to  this 
example.  "Kitty  Clive  is  the  hook  without  the  bait,'' 
said  she ;  and  the  laugh  turned,  as  it  always  did,  against 
Peggy's  antagonist. 

Thus  much  was  speedily  shown  to  Mr.  Vane,  that  what- 
ever were  Mrs.  Woffington's  intentions  towards  him,  in- 
terest had  at  present  nothing  to  do  with  them ;  indeed 
it  was  made  clear  that  even  were  she  to  surrender  her 
liberty  to  him,  it  would  only  be  as  a  princess,  forging 
golden  chains  for  herself  with  her  own  royal  hand. 

Another  fortnight  passed  to  the  mutual  satisfaction 
of  the  lovers.  To  Vane  it  was  a  dream  of  rapture  to  be 
near  this  great  creature,  whom  thousands  admired  at 
such  a  distance ;  to  watch  over  her,  to  take  her  to  the 
theatre  in  a  warm  shawl,  to  stand  at  the  wing  and  receive 
her  as  she  came  radiant  from  her  dressing-room,  to 
watch  her  from  her  rear  as  she  stood  like  some  power 
about  to  descend  on  the  stage,  to  see  her  falcon-like 
stoop  upon  the  said  stage,  and  hear  the  burst  of  applause 
that  followed,  as  the  report  does  the  flash ;  to  compare 
this  with  the  spiritless  crawl  with  which  common  artists 
went  on,  tame  from  their  first  note  to  their  last ;  to  take 
her  hand  when  she  came  off,  feel  how  her  nerves  were 


52  I'VIC.    WOKFINGTON. 

strung  like  u  greyhound's  after  a  nue,  and  her  whole 
frame  in  a  high  even  glow,  with  the  great  Pythoness 
excitement  of  art.  , 

And  to  havt!  the  sanif  great  creature  leaning  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  and  listening  with  a  ohanning  ('omj)la- 
cency,  whilst  he  purred  to  her  of  love  and  ealm  delights, 
alternate  with  still  greater  triumphs ;  for  he  was  to  turn 
dramatic  writer,  for  her  sjiko  was  to  write  plays,  a 
woman  the  hero,  and  love  was  to  insi)ire  him,  and  pas- 
sion supply  the  want  of  pencraft.  (You  make  me 
laugh,  Mr.  Vane  ! ) 

All  this  was  In-avt-nly. 

And  then  witii  all  her  dash,  and  Hre,  and  bravado,  she 
was  a  thorough  woman. 

*•  Margaret  I  " 

'•  Ernest  I " 

"1  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Did  you  really  cry 
because  that  Miss  Bellamy  had  dresses  from  Paris  /  " 

"  It  does  not  seem  very  likely." 

♦'  Xo,  but  tell  me ;  did  you 't " 

"  Who  said  I  did  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Cibber." 

*•  Old  fool !  " 

"Yes,  but  did  you?" 

"Did  1  what?" 

u  Cry !  " 

"Ernest,  the  minx's  dresses  were  beautiful." 

'•  No  doubt.     IJut  did  you  cry  ?  " 

"And  mine  were  dirty;  I  don't  care  about  gilt  rags, 
but  dirty  dresses,  ugh  ! " 

"Telf  me,  then." 

"  Tell  you  Avhat  ?  " 

"  Did  you  cry  or  not  ?  " 

"  Ah !  he  wants  to  find  out  whether  I  am  a  fool,  and 
despise  me." 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  53 

"  No,  I  think  I  should  love  you  better :  for  hitherto  I 
have  seen  no  weakness  in  you,  and  it  makes  me  uncom- 
fortable." 

"  Be  comforted  !     Is  it  not  a  weakness  to  like  you  ?  " 

"You  are  free  from  that  weakness,  or  you  would 
gratify  my  curiosit}'." 

"Be  pleased  to  state,  in  plain  intelligible  English, 
what  you  require  of  me." 

"  I  want  to  know,  in  one  word,  did  you  cry  or  not  ?  " 

"Promise  to  tease  me  no  more  then,  and  I'll  tell 
you." 

"  I  promise." 

"  You  won't  despise  me  ?  " 

"  Despise  you !  of  course  not." 

"  Well  then  —  I  don't  remember ! " 

On  another  occasion,  they  were  seated  in  the  dusk,  by 
the  side  of  the  canal  in  the  park,  when  a  little  animal 
began  to  potter  about  on  an  adjacent  bank. 

Mrs.  Woffington  contemplated  it  with  curiosity  and 
delight. 

"  Oh,  you  pretty  creature  ! "  said  she.  "  Now  you  are 
a  rabbit :  at  least,  I  think  so." 

"No,"  said  Vane,  innocently  ;  "that  is  a  rat." 

"  Ah!  ah !  ah ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Woffington,  and  pinched 
his  arm.  This  frightened  the  rat,  who  disappeared. 
She  burst  out  laughing :  "  There's  a  fool !  The  thing 
did  not  frighten  me,  and  the  name  did.  Depend  upon 
it,  it's  true  what  they  say  —  that  off  the  stage,  I  am  the 
greatest  fool  there  is.  I'll  never  be  so  absurd  again. 
Ah !  ah !  ah !  here  it  is  again  "  (scream  and  pinch,  as 
before.)  "Do  take  me  from  this  horrid  place,  where 
monsters  come  from  the  great  deep." 

And  she  flounced  away,  looking  daggers  askant  at  the 
place  the  rat  had  vacated  in  equal  terror. 

All  this  was  silly,  but  it  pleases  us  men,  and  contrast 


54  rVM     WOFFINGTON. 

is  so  charmiii"^!  Tliis  .s;imo  fool  was  hriinful  of  talent  — 
and  cunning,  too,  for  that  matter. 

She  played  late  that  night,  and  Mr.  \'ane  saw  the 
sjime  creature,  who  dared  not  stay  wliere  sh»^  was  liable 
to  a  distant  rat,  spring  u|>on  th«'  stage  as  a  gay  rake,  and 
flash  out  her  rapier,  and  act  valor's  king  to  the  life. 
and  seem  ready  to  eat  upeverylx)dy.  King  Fear  ineludeft: 
and  then,  after  her  brilliant  sally  u|)on  the  j)ublic.  .*^ir 
Harry   Wildair  canic  and  stood  Invsid**  .Mr.    Vam*. 

Her  bright  skin,  contriisted  with  her  powdered  peri- 
wig, became  dazzling.  She  used  little  rouge,  but  tliat 
little  made  her  eyes  two  balls  of  black  lightning.  From 
her  high  instcj)  to  ln-r  {)olished  forehead,  all  was  sym- 
metry. Her  leg  would  havr  bt'cn  a  sculptor's  glory;  and 
the  curve  from  her  waist  to  her  knee,  was  Hogarth's 
line  itself. 

She  stood  like  Mercury  new  liglited  on  a  heaven- 
kissing  hill.  She  placed  her  foot  upon  the  ground,  as 
she  might  put  a  hand  upon  her  lover's  shoulder.  We 
indent  it  with  our  eleven  undisguised  stone. 

Such  was  Sir  Harry  Wildair,  who  stood  by  Mr.  Vane, 
glittering  with  diamond  buckles,  gorgeous  with  rich 
satin  breeches,  velvet  coat,  ruffles,  pictai  vestis  et  auri ; 
and  as  she  bent  her  long  eye-fringes  tlown  on  him  (he 
was  seated),  all  her  fiery  charms  gradually  softened  and 
quivered  down  to  womanhood. 

"  The  first  time  I  was  here,''  said  Vane,  "  my  admira- 
tion of  you  broke  out  to  Mr.  Gibber ;  and  what  do  you 
think  he  said  ?  " 

"That  you  praised  me,  for  me  to  hear  you.  Did 
you  ?  " 

"Acquit  me  of  such  meanness." 

"  Forgive  me.  It  is  just  what  I  should  have  done,  had 
I  been  courting  an  actress.'' 

"  I  think  you  have  not  met  many  ingenuous  spirits, 
dear  friend  ?  " 


PP:G    WOFFINGTON.  ,       55 

"Kot  one,  my  child." 

This  was  a  phrase  she  often  applied  to  him  now. 

"  The  old  fellow  pretended  to  hear  what  I  said,  too ; 
and  I  am  sure  you  did  not  —  did  you  ?  " 

"Guess." 

"  I  guess  not." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  plead  guilty.  An  actress's  ears 
are  so  quick  to  hear  praise,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did 
catch  a  word  or  two,  and,  '  It  told,  sir  —  it  told.' " 

"  You  alarm  me  !  At  this  rate  I  shall  never  know 
what  you  see,  hear,  or  think,  by  your  face." 

"When  you  want  to  know  anything,  ask  me,  and  I 
will  tell  you ;  but  nobody  else  shall  learn  anything,  not 
even  you,  any  other  way." 

"  Did  you  hear  the  feeble  tribute  of  praise  I  was  pay- 
ing you,  when  you  came  in  ?  "  inquired  Vane. 

"  No.  You  did  not  say  that  my  voice  had  the  compass 
and  variety  of  nature,  and  my  movements  were  free  and 
beautiful,  whilst  the  others  Avhen  in  motion  were  stilts, 
and  coffee-pots  when  in  repose,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort,  I  believe,"  cried  Vane,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  I  melted  from  one  fine  statue  into  another,  I  restored 
the  Antinous  to  his  true  sex.  —  Goose  !  —  Painters  might 
learn  their  art  from  me  (in  my  dressing-room,  no  doubt), 
and  orators  revive  at  my  lips  the  music  of  Athens,  that 
quelled  mad  mobs  and  princes  drunk  with  victory. 
Silly  fellow !  Praise  was  never  so  sweet  to  me,"  mur- 
mured she,  inclining  like  a  goddess  of  love  towards 
him;  and  he  fastened  on  two  velvet  lips,  that  did  not 
shun  the  sweet  attack,  but  gently  parted  with  a  heavenly 
sigh ;  while  her  heaving  bosom,  and  yielding  frame,  and 
swimming  eyes,  confessed  her  conqueror. 

That  morning  Mr.  Vane  had  been  dispirited,  and  appar- 
ently self-discontented ;  but  at  night,  he  went  home  in  a 


r>6  VtXi    \Vr>FFINf:TOV, 

state  of  mental  intoxication.  His  j)0«'ti<'  enthusiasm, 
liis  love,  his  vanity,  were  all  gratifioil  at  once  And  all 
tUest',  sinjjly,  have  conquered  pnidoncf  and  virtue  a 
million  times. 

She  hud  confessed  to  him  that  she  was  dispo.sed  to  risk 
her  happiness  on  him  ;  she  hacl  b«>p_i;ed  him  to  Rnhmit  to 
a  short  probation;  and  she  had  promised,  if  her  (Htnti- 
dt.'nce  and  esteem  remained  unimpaired  at  the  cU«e  of 
that  period  —  which  was  not  to  be  an  unhappy  one  —  to 
take  advantage  of  the  summer  holidays,  and  cross  the 
water  with  him,  and  forget  everything  in  the  world  with 
him,  but  love. 

How  was  it  that  the  very  next  morning,  (douds  e]ia.sed 
one  another  across  his  face'.'  Was  it  that  men  are  luii»py, 
but  while  the  chase  is  doubtful '.'  Was  it  the  letter  from 
Pomander  annouiu'ing  his  return,  and  sneerin_i,'ly  impiir- 
ing  whether  he  was  still  the  dupe  of  I'eg  Woffington'.'  or 
was  it  that  same  mysterious  disquiet  which  attacked  him 
periodically,  and  then  gave  way  for  awhile  to  pleasure 
and  her  golden  ilreams  ? 

The  next  day  was  to  be  a  day  of  delight.  He  was  to 
entertain  her  at  his  own  house;  an.'  to  do  her  honor, 
he  had  asked  Mr.  Cibber,  Mr.  Quin,  and  other  a<tors, 
critics,  etc. 

Our  friend  Sir  Charles  Pomander  had  been  guilty  of 
two  ingenuities :  first,  he  had  written  three  or  four  letters, 
full  of  respectfid  admiration,  to  Mrs.  Woflfington.  of  whom 
he  spoke  slightingly  to  Vane:  second,  he  had  made  a 
disingenuous  purchase. 

This  jmrchase  was  Pompey,  Mrs.  Woffington's  littl*^ 
black  slave.  It  is  a  horrid  fact,  but  Pompey  did  not  love 
his  mistress;  he  was  a  little  enamoured  of  her,  as  small 
boys  are  apt  to  be,  but  on  the  whole,  a  sentiment  of 
hatred  slightly  predominated  in  his  little  black  bogom. 

It  was  not  without  excuse. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  57 

This  lady  was  subject  to  two  unpleasant  companions, 
sorrow  and  bitterness.  About  twice  a  week  she  would 
cry  for  two  hours ;  and  after  this  class  of  lit  she  gener- 
ally went  abroad,  and  made  a  round  of  certain  poor  or 
sick  proUges  she  had,  and  returned  smiling  and  cheerful. 
But  other  twice  a  week  she  might  be  seen  to  sit  upon 
her  chair,  contracted  into  half  her  size,  and  looking 
daggers  at  the  universe  in  general,  the  world  in  particu- 
lai°  and  on  these  occasions,  it  must  be  owned,  she  stayed 
at  home,  and  sometimes  whipped  Pompey. 

Pompey  had  not  the  sense  to  reflect  that  he  ought  to 
have  been  whipped  every  day,  or  the  esjprit  de  corps  to 
be  consoled  by  observing  that  this  sort  of  thing  did  his 
mistress  good.  What  he  felt  was,  that  his  mistress,  who 
did  everything  well,  whipped  him  with  energy  and  skill; 
it  did  not  take  ten  seconds,  but  still,  in  that  brief  period, 
Pompey  found  himself  dusted  and  polished  off. 

The  sacred  principle  of  justice  was  as  strong  in  Mrs. 
Woffington  as  in  the  rest  of  her  sex,  she  had  not  one 
grain  of  it.  "WTien  she  was  not  in  her  tantrums,  the 
mischievous  imp  was  as  sacred  from  check  or  remon- 
strance as  a  monkey,  or  a  lap-dog;  and  several  female 
servants  left  the  house  on  his  account. 

But  Nemesis  overtook  him  in  the  way  we  have  hinted, 
and  it  put  his  little  black  pipe  out. 

The  lady  had  taken  him  out  of  great  humanity;  he 
was  fed  like  a  game-cock,  and  dressed  like  a  Barbaric 
prince ;  and  once,  when  he  was  ill,  his  mistress  watched 
him,  and  nursed  him,  and  tended  him  with  the  same 
white  hand  that  plied  the  obnoxious  whip ;  and  when  he 
died,  she  alone  withheld  her  consent  from  his  burial,  and 
this  gave  him  a  chance  black  boys  never  get,  and  he 
came-to  again ;  but  still  these  tarnation  lickings  "  stuck 
in  him  gizzard."  So  when  Sir  Charles's  agent  proposed 
to  him  certain  silver  coins,  cheap  at  a  little  treachery. 


58  I'Et.     WOFFlNl.roN. 

the  ebony  api'  ^linneil  till  he  tunu'il  h;ilf  ivory,  and 
Iweanu'  a  spy  in  the  huus»-  ot   his  uustie.ss. 

The  leader  will  have  feathered,  that  the  j^ood  »Sir 
<;harles  had  been  quietly  in  London  some  hours  before 
he  announited  hinistdt  as  /mutu  post  Jut ii rum. 

Diamond  cut  dianiotid  ;  a  diplomatic  stt»le  this  march 
upon  an  actress,  and  tt»ok  her  black  pawn.  One  for 
I'omander !     (Gun.) 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  59 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Triplet,  the  Cerberus  of  art,  who  had  the  first  bark 
in  this  legend,  and  has  since  been  out  of  hearing,  ran 
from  Lambeth  to  Covent  Garden,  on  receipt  of  Mr. 
Vane's  note.  But  ran  he  never  so  quick,  he  had  built  a 
full-sized  castle  in  the  air  before  he  reached  Bow  Street. 

The  letter  hinted  at  an  order  upon  his  muse  for  amatory- 
verse  :  delightful  task,  cheering  prospect. 

Bid  a  man  whose  usual  lot  it  is  to  break  stones  for  the 
parish  at  tenpence  the  cubic  yard ;  bid  such  an  one  play 
at  marbles  with  stone  taws  for  half  an  hour  per  day,  and 
pocket  one  pound  one.  Bid  a  poor  horse  who  has  drawn 
those  stones  about,  and  browsed  short  grass  by  the  way- 
side, bid  him  canter  a  few  times  round  a  grassy  ring,  and 
then  go  to  his  corn.  In  short,  bid  Rosinaute  change  with 
Pegasus,  and  you  do  no  more  than  Mr.  Vane's  letter  held 
out  to  Triplet.  ' 

The  amatory  verse  of  that  day  was  not  up-hill  work. 
There  was  a  beaten  track  on  a  dead  level,  and  you  fol- 
lowed it.  You  told  the  tender  creature,  with  a  world  of 
circumlocution,  that,  "without  joking  now,"  she  was  a 
leper,  ditto  a  tigress,  item  marble.  You  next  feigned 
a  lucid  interval,  and  to  be  on  the  point  of  detesting  your 
monster,  but  in  twenty  more  verses  love  became,  as  usual, 
stronger  than  reason,  and  you  wound  up  your  rotten  yarn 
thus : — 

You  hugged  a  golden  chain.  You  drew  deeper  into 
your  wound  a  barbed  shaft,  like  —  (any  wild  animal  will 
do,  no  one  of  them  is  such  an  ass,  so  you  had  an  equal 
title  to  all)  ;  and  on  looking  back  you  saw  with  horrible 


60  l'K<;    WOFFIKGTON, 

coinpl.acency  that  you  had  inflictod  one  hiimlit'd  locusts. 
five  feet  long,  upon  oppressed  humanity. 

Wont  to  travel  ovf-r  acn'S  of  oanva.s  for  a  lew  .shillin','s, 
and  rood.s  of  paper  on  bare  sp)eeulation.  Triplet  knew  he 
could  niakt*  a  thousand  a  year  at  the  above  work  without 
thinking. 

He  came  thcrefijre  to  the  box-keeper  M'itli  his  ejes 
glittering. 

"  Mr.  Vane  ?  " 

".lust  gone  out  with  a  gentleman." 

"  I'll  wait  then." 

Now  Mr.  Vane,  we  know,  was  in  the  green-room,  and 
went  home  by  the  stage-<loor.  The  last  thing  he  thought 
of  was  yK)or  Triplet;  the  rich  do  not  dream  h<iw  they 
disappoint  the  poor.  Trijtlet's  ea.'stle  fell  as  many  a 
jiredecessor  had.  When  the  lights  were  put  out.  he  left 
the  theatn-  with  a  bitter  sigh. 

•'If  this  gentleman  knew  how  many  sweet  eliildren  1 
liave,  and  what  a  good,  patient,  suffenng  wife,  sure  he 
would  not  have  chosen  me  to  make  a  fool  of  I "  said  the 
poor  fellow  to  himself. 

In  How  Street,  he  turned,  and  looked  baek  upon  the 
theatre.     How  gloomy  and  grand  it  loomed  I 

"  Ah  I  "*  thought  he.  "  if  1  could  but  conquer  you  ;  and 
why  not  ?  All  history  shows  that  nothing  is  unconquer- 
able except  perseverance.  Hannib.al  conqxiered  the  Alps, 
and  I'll  conquer  you.''  cried  Triplet,  firmly.  "Yes.  this 
visit  is  not  lost;  here  I  register  a  vow:  I  will  force  my 
way  into  that  mountain  of  masonry,  or  perish  in  the 
attempt." 

Triplet's  most  unpremeditated  thoughts  and  actions 
often  savored  ridiculously  of  the  sublime.  Then  and 
there,  gazing  with  folded  arms  on  this  fortress  of  Thespis, 
the  polytechnic  man  organized  his  first  assault.  The 
next  evening  he  made  it. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  61 

Five  months  previously  he  had  sent  the  manager  three 
great,  large  tragedies.  He  knew  the  aversion  a  theatri- 
cal manager  has  to  read  a  manuscript  play,  not  recom- 
mended by  influential  folk;  an  aversion  which  always 
has  been  carried  to  superstition.  So  he  hit  on  the  fol- 
lowing scheme :  — 

He  wrote  Mr.  Rich  a  letter ;  in  this,  he  told  Mr.  Rich 
that  he  (Triplet)  was  aware  what  a  quantity  of  trash  is 
offered  every  week  to  a  manager,  how  disheartening  it 
must  be  to  read  it  all,  and  how  natural,  after  awhile,  to 
read  none.  Therefore,  he  (Triplet)  had  provided  that 
Mr.  Rich  might  economize  his  time,  and  yet  not  remain 
in  ignorance  of  the  dramatic  treasure  that  lay  ready  to 
his  hand. 

"The  soul  of  a  play,"  continued  Triplet;  "is  the  plot 
or  fable.  A  gentleman  of  your  experience  can  decide  at 
once  whether  a  plot  or  story  is  one  to  take  the  public  ! " 

So  then  he  drew  out,  in  full,  the  three  plots.  He 
wrote  these  plots  in  verse !  Heaven  forgive  us  all,  he 
really  did.  There  were  also  two  margins  left ;  on  one, 
which  was  narrow,  he  jotted  down  the  locale  per  page  of 
the  most  brilliant  passages ;  on  the  other  margin,  which 
was  as  wide  as  the  column  of  the  plot,  he  made  careful 
drawings  of  the  personages  in  the  principal  dramatic 
situations ;  scrolls  issued  from  their  mouths,  on  which 
were  written  the  words  of  fire  that  were  flowing  from 
each  in  these  eruptions  of  the  dramatic  action.  All  was 
referred  to  pages  in  the  manuscripts. 

"By  this  means,  sir,"  resumed  the  latter,  "you  will 
gut  my  fish  in  a  jiffy;  permit  me  to  recall  that  expres- 
sion, with  apologies  for  my  freedom.  I  would  say,  you 
will,  in  a  few  minutes  of  your  valuable  existence,  skim 
the  cream  of  Triplet." 

This  author's  respect  for  the  manager's  time,  carried 
him  into  further  and  unusual  details. 


62  rK<i     WOFFINGTON. 

"Breakf;ist,"  said  hv,  "is  u  quift  meal.  Let  mo 
respectfully  su^'gost,  that  by  placing  one  of  my  plots  on 
th»^  tiiblc,  with,  say  the  sugar-ba.sin  uim)U  it  (this,  again, 
is  a  nu're  suggestion),  and  the  play  it  appertains  to  on 
your  other  sidej  you  can  readily  judge  my  work  without 
disturl)ing  the  avix-ations  of  the  day,  and  master  a  play 
in  the  twinkling  of  a  tea-cup;  forgive  my  faretiousuess. 
This  day  month,  at  ten  of  the  clock,  1  shall  expect,"  said 
Triplet,  with  sudden  severity,  "sir,  your  decision  !  " 

Then  gliding  back  to  the  courtier,  he  formally  dis- 
ownt-d  all  spt-eial  title  to  the  consideration  he  expected 
from  Mr.  Rich's  well-known  courtesy;  still,  he  begged 
permission  to  remind  that  gentleman,  that  he  had  six 
years  ago  painted  for  him  a  large  scene,  illuminated  by 
two  great  iKjetieal  incidents:  a  red  sun,  of  dimensions 
never  seen  out  of  doors  in  this  or  any  country ;  and  an 
ocean  of  sand,  yellower  tlian  up  to  that  time  had  been 
attained  in  art  or  nature  ;  and  tliat  once,  when  the  audi- 
ence, late  in  the  evening,  had  suddenly  demanded  a 
jwpular  song  from  Mr.  Jsokes,  he  (Triplet)  seeing  the 
orchestra  thinned  by  desertion,  and  nugatory  by  intoxi- 
cation, had  started  from  the  pit,  resuscitated  with  the 
whole  contents  of  his  snuft-l)ox,  the  bass  fiddle,  snatched 
the  leader's  violin,  and  carried  Mr.  Nokes  triumphantly 
through ;  that  thunders  of  applause  had  followed,  and 
Mr.  Nokes  had  kindly  returned  thanks  for  both  ;  but 
that  he  (Triplet)  had  liastily  retired  to  evade  the  man- 
ager's acknowledgments,  preferring  to  wait  an  oppor- 
tunity like  the  present,  when  both  interests  could  be 
conciliated,  etc. 

This  letter  he  posted  at  its  destination,  to  save  time, 
and  returned  triumphant  home.  He  had  now  forgiven 
and  almost  forgotten  Vane ;  and  had  reflected  that,  after 
all,  the  drama  was  his  proper  walk. 

"My  dear,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Triplet,  "this  family  is  on 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  63 

the  eve  of  a  great  triumph ! "  Then,  inverting  that 
order  of  the  grandiloquent  and  the  homely  which  he 
invented  in  our  first  chapter,  he  proceeded  to  say :  "  I 
have  reared  in  a  single  day  a  new  avenue,  by  which 
histrionic  greatness,  hitherto  obstructed,  may  become 
accessible.  Wife,  I  think  I  have  done  the  trick  at  last. 
Lysimachus  ! "  added  he  ;  "  let  a  libation  be  poured  out 
on  so  smiling  an  occasion,  and  a  burnt-offering  rise  to 
propitiate  the  celestial  powers.  Eun  to  the  •'  Sun,'  you 
dog.  Three  pennyworth  of  ale,  and  a  hap'orth  o' 
tobacco." 

Ere  the  month  was  out,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  Triplets 
were  reduced  to  a  state  of  beggary.  Mrs.  Triplet's  health 
had  long  been  failing;  and  although  her  duties  at  her 
little  theatre  were  light  and  occasional,  the  manager  was 
obliged  to  discharge  her,  since  she  could  not  be  depended 
upon. 

The  family  had  not  enough  to  eat  I  Think  of  that ! 
They  were  not  warm  at  night,  and  they  felt  gnawing  and 
faintness  often  by  day.     Think  of  that ! 

Fortune  was  unjust  here.  The  man  was  laughable, 
and  a  goose,  and  liad  no  genius  either  for  writing,  paint- 
ing, or  acting;  but  in  that  he  resembled  most  writers, 
painters,  and  actors  of  his  own  day  and  ours.  He  was 
not  beneath  the  average  of  Avhat  men  call  art,  and  it  is 
art's  antipodes  —  treadmill  artifice. 

Other  fluent  ninnies  shared  gain,  and  even  fame,  and 
were  called  "  pen-men,"  in  Triplet's  day.  Other  ranters 
were  quietly  getting  rich  by  noise.  Other  liars  and  hum- 
bugs were  painting  out  o'  doors  in-doors,  and  eating 
mutton  instead  of  thistles  for  drenched  stinging-nettles, 
yclept  trees ;  for  block-tin  clouds ;  for  butlers'  pantry 
seas,  and  garret-conceived  lakes ;  for  molten  sugar-candy 
rivers ;  for  airless  atmosphere  and  sunless  air ;  for  carpet 
nature,  and  cold,  dead  fragments  of  an  earth  all  soul  and 


64  rEO    WOKFINGTON. 

living  glory  to  every  tniltiviittnl  rye  but  ;v  routine  jiainter's. 
Yet  the  man  of  many  such  mediocrities  cuuUl  not  keep 
the  pot  lx)iling.  We  suspect  that  to  those  wlio  wouhi 
rise  in  life,  even  stron<,'  versatility  is  a  very  <Unibtful 
good,  and  weak  versatility  ruination. 

At  last,  the  hitter,  weary  month  was  jjone,  and  Trij)- 
let's  eye  brightened  gloriously.  He  donned  his  best 
suit;  and,  whilst  tying  his  cmvat,  lectured  his  family. 
First,  he  oomplimt-nted  them  upon  their  deportment  in 
adversity;  hinted  that  moralists,  not  experietice,  had 
informed  him  jirosperity  was  far  more  trying  to  the 
character.  Put  them  all  solemnly  tm  their  guard  down 
to  Lucy,  fvtat.  Hve,  tiiat  they  wen*  morituri  and  (r,  and 
must  be  pleased  to  abstain  from  ••insolent  gladness" 
upon  his  return. 

"Sweet  are  the  uses  of  iwlversity,"  continued  this 
cheerful  monitor.  "  If  we  had  not  been  hard-up  this 
while,  we  should  not  come  with  a  full  relish  to  meat 
three  times  a  week,  which,  unless  1  am  an  ass  (and  I 
don't  see  myst-lf  in  that  light),"  said  Triplet,  dryly, 
''  will,  I  apprehend,  be,  after  this  day,  the  primary 
condition  of  our  future  existence." 

'•James,  take  the  picture  with  you,"  said  .Mrs.  Triplet, 
in  one  of  those  calm,  little,  desponding  voices  that  fall 
upon  the  soul  so  agreeal>ly  when  (»ne  is  a  cock-a-hoop, 
and  desires,  with  permission,  so  to  remain. 

'*  What  on  earth  am  I  to  take  Mrs.  Wofhngton's  por- 
trait for '.' " 

*'  We  have  nothing  in  the  house,"  said  the  wife, 
blushing. 

Triplet's  eye  glittered  like  a  rattlesnake's. 

"  The  intimation  is  eccentric,"  said  he.  "  Are  you 
mad,  Jane  ?  Pray,"  continued  he,  veiling  his  wrath  in 
scornful  words,  ''is  it  requisite,  heroic,  or  judicious,  on 
the    eve,   or   more   correctly   the   morn,   of   atliuenoe,   to 


PKG    WOFFIXGTON".  65 

deposit  an  unfinished  work  of  art  with  a  mercenary 
relation  ?  Hang  it,  Jane  !  would  you  really  have  me 
pawn  Mrs.  Woffington  to-day  ?  " 

*'  James,"  said  Jane,  steadily,  "  the  manager  may  dis- 
appoint you ;  we  have  often  been  disappointed ;  so  take 
the  picture  with  you.  They  will  give  you  ten  shillings 
on  it." 

Triplet  was  of  those  who  see  things  roseate.  Mrs.  Triplet 
lurid. 

''  Madam,"  said  the  poet,  "  for  the  first  time  in  our 
conjugal  career,  your  commands  deviate  so  entirely  from 
reason,  that  I  respectfully  withdraw  that  implicit  obedi- 
ence which  has  hitherto  constituted  my  principal  repu- 
tation.    I'm  hanged  if  I  do  it,  Jane  ! " 

"  Dear  James,  to  oblige  me  !  " 

"  That  alters  the  case  ;  you  confess  it  is  unreasonable  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  it  is  only  to  oblige  me." 

"  Enough ! "  said  Triplet,  whose  tongue  was  often  a 
flail  tlmt  fell  on  friend,  foe,  and  self,  indiscriminately. 
'•  Allow  it  to  be  unreasonable,  and  I  do  it  as  a  matter  of 
course  —  to  please  you,  Jane." 

Accordingly,  the  good  soul  wrapped  it  in  green  baize ; 
but  to  relieve  his  mind  he  was  obliged  to  get  behind  his 
wife,  and  shrug  his  shoulders  to  Lysimachus  and  the 
eldest  girl,  as  who  should  say,  'ooila  Hen  une  femme  voire 
mere  a  voiis  / 

At  last  he  was  off  in  high  spirits.  He  reached  Co  vent 
Garden  at  half-past  ten,  and  there  the  poor  fellow  was 
sucked  into  our  narrative  whirlpool. 

We  must,  however,  leave  him  for  a  few  minutes. 


«ir»  PKO     \Vt)l  FINUTON. 


CHAPTEH    V. 

Silt  f'li Ain.Ks  I'uMANDKK  was  detained  in  the  country 
iiuich  lonjjfT  than  hr  ♦'Xpectetj. 

Ur  wius  r»'uai(l('(l  hy  a  littU>  adventure.  As  h»'  can- 
tered up  to  Tjondon  with  two  servants  and  a  post-boy,  all 
riding  on  horsi's  ordered  in  relays  beforehand,  he  came 
up  with  an  antediluvian  coach,  stu<-k  fast  by  the  road- 
side. Lookintj  into  the  window,  with  the  humane  design 
of  (piizzin;^  tlu^  elders  who  should  be  there,  he  saw  a 
youni;  lady  of  surpassing  l)eauty.  This  altered  the  case; 
Sir  Charles  instantly  drew  bridle  and  offered  his  serv- 
i'-es. 

The  laily  thanked  him,  and.  being  an  innocent  country 
lady,  she  open»'d  those  sluices,  her  eyes,  and  two  tears 
gently  trickled  down,  while  she  told  him  how  eager  she 
was  to  reach  London,  and  how  mortified  at  this  delay. 

The  good  Sir  Charles  was  touched.  He  leaped  his 
horse  over  a  hedge,  galloj)ed  to  a  farmhouse  in  sight, 
and  retunu'd  with  ropes  and  rustics.  These  and  Sir 
(Charles's  horses  soon  drew  the  coach  out  of  some  stittisli 
clay. 

The  lady  thanked  him,  and  thanked  him,  and  thanked 
him,  with  heightening  color  and  beaming  eyes,  and  he 
rode  away  like  a  hero. 

Before  he  had  gone  live  miles  he  became  thoughtful 
and  self-dissatisfied.  Finally  his  remorse  came  to  a 
liead:  he  called  to  him  the  keenest  of  his  servants, 
Hunsdon,  and  ordered  him  to  ride  back  past  the  carriage, 
then  follow  and  put  up  at  the  same  inn,  to  learn  who  the 
lady  was,  and  whither  going,  and,  this  knowledge  gained. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  67 

to  ride  into  town  full  speed,  and  tell  his  master  all 
about  it.  Sir  Charles  then  resumed  his  complacency, 
knd  cantered  into  London  that  same  evening. 

Arrived  there,  he  set  himself  in  earnest  to  cut  out  his 
friend  with  Mrs.  Wofiington.  He  had  already  caused 
his  correspondence  with  that  lady  to  grow  warm  and 
more  tender  by  degrees.  Keeping  a  copy  of  his  last,  he 
always  knew  where  he  was.  Cupid's  barometer  rose  by 
rule  ;  and  so  he  arrived  by  just  gradations  at  an  artful 
climax,  and  made  her,  in  terms  of  chivalrous  affection, 
an  offer  of  a  house,  etc.,  three  hundred  a  year,  etc.,  not 
forgetting  his  heart,  etc.  He  knew  that  the  ladies  of 
the  stage  have  an  ear  for  flattery,  and  an  eye  to  the 
main  chance. 

The  good  Sir  Charles  felt  sure  that  however  she  might 
flirt  with  Vane  or  others,  she  would  nt>t  forego  a  position 
for  any  disinterested  'penchant.  Still,  as  he  was  a  close 
player,  he  determined  to  throw  a  little  cold  water  on 
that  flame.  His  plan,  like  everything  truly  scientific, 
was  simple. 

"  I'll  run  her  down  to  him,  and  ridicule  him  to  her," 
resolved  this  faithful  friend  and  lover  dear. 

He  began  with  Vane.  He  found  him  just  leaving  his 
own  house.  After  the  usual  compliments,  some  such 
dialogue  as  this  took  place  between  Telemachus  and 
pseudo  Mentor :  — 

"  I  trust  you  are  not  really  in  the  power  of  this 
actress  ?  " 

''  You  are  the  slave  of  a  word,"  replied  Vane.  "  Would 
you  confound  black  and  white  because  both  are  colors  ? 
She  is  like  that  sisterhood  in  nothing  but  a  name.  Even 
on  the  stage  they  have  nothing  in  common.  They  are 
];uppets — all  attitude  and  trick:  she  is  all  ease,  grace, 
and  nature." 

"  Nature  !  "  cried  Pomander.     ''  Laissez-moi  tranquille. 

Vol.  9—3 


68  VKC.    WOFFINCJTON. 

They  hiivo  artifu't*  —  ii:itur<''s  liht'l.  Slif  has  art  — 
nature's  counter tVit." 

"  Her  voice  is  truth  toM  by  musie,"  pried  the  poetical 
lover:  *'  theirs  are  jingling  instruments  of  falsehood." 

"They  are  all  inslninients,"  said  the  satirist;  "she  is 
rather  the  best  tuned  and  played. " 

"  Her  faoe  speaks  in  every  lineament :  theirs  are  rouijed 
and  wrinkled  masks." 

"Her  nuisk  is  the  best  made,  mounted  and  moved  ; 
that  is  all." 

"  She  is  a  fountain  of  true  feelintj." 

"No;  a  pil)e  that  ronveys  it  without  spilling  or  hold- 
ing a  drop." 

"She  is  an  aTiL,'el  of  talent,  sir." 

"  She's  a  devil  of  deception." 

"She  is  a  divinity  to  worship." 

"  Slu''s  a  wf)man  to  fight  shy  of.  There  is  not  a  woman 
in  Londoti  better  known,"  eontinu-d  Sir  CMiarles.  "  She 
is  a  fair  actress  on  the  boards,  and  a  great  actress  off 
them  ;  but  I  can  tell  you  how  to  add  a  new  charm  to 
her." 

"  Heaven  can  only  do  that,"  said  Vane  hastily. 

"Yes,  you  can.  Make  her  blu^h.  Ask  her  for  the 
list  of  your  predecessors." 

Vane  winced  visibly.  He  cpiickeued  his  step,  as  if  to 
get  ritl  of  this  gadHy. 

"  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Quin,"  said  he  at  last,  "  and  he  who 
has  no  prejudice  paid  her  character  the  highest  comj)li- 
ment." 

"  You  have  paid  it  the  highest  it  admits,"  was  the 
reply.  "  You  have  let  it  deceive  you."  Sir  Charles  con- 
tinued in  a  more  solemn  tone,  "  Pray  be  warned.  Why 
is  it  every  man  of  intellect  loves  an  actress  once  in  his 
Life,  and  no  man  of  sense  ever  did  it  twice?" 

This  last   hit,  coming  after  the  carte    and  tierce  we 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  69 

have  described,  brought  an  expression  of  pain  to  Mr. 
Vane's  face.  He  said  abruptly,  "  Excuse  me,  I  desire  to 
be  alone  for  half  an  hour." 

Machiavel  bowed,  and,  instead  of  taking  offence,  said, 
in  a  tone  full  of  feeling,  "  Ah  !  I  give  you  pain.  But 
you  are  right :  think  it  calmly  over  awhile,  and  you  will 
see  I  advise  you  well." 

He  then  made  for  the  theatre,  and  the  Aveakish  per- 
sonage he  had  been  playing  upon  walked  down  to  the 
river,  almost  ran,  in  fact.     He  wanted  to  be  out  of  sight. 

He  got  behind  some  houses,  and  then  his  face  seemed 
literally  to  break  loose  from  confinement,  so  anxious, 
sad,  fearful  and  bitter  were  the  expressions  that  coursed 
each  other  over  that  handsome  countenance. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  these  hot  and  cold  fits  ?  It 
is  not  Sir  Charles  who  has  the  power  to  shake  Mr.  Vane 
so  without  some  help  from  within.  There  is  something 
wrong  about  this  man  ! 


70  PEG  wof:'in(;ton. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Machiavel  ontercd  the  green-room,  intending  to  wait 
for  Mrs.  Wottington  and  carry  out  the  second  part  of  his 
])lan. 

He  knew  tliat  \ve;ik  minds  cannot  make  head  against 
ridicule,  and  with  tliis  pick-axe  he  proposed  to  clear  the 
way  before  he  came  to  grave,  sensible,  business  love 
with  the  lady.  Maehiavel  was  a  man  of  talent.  If  he 
has  been  a  silent  parsonage  liitherto,  it  is  merely  because 
it  was  not  liis  cue  to  t;ilk,  but  listen;  otherwise,  he  was 
rather  a  master  of  the  art  of  speech.  He  could  be  in- 
sinuating, elo(pient,  sensible,  or  satirical,  at  will.  This 
personage  sat  in  the  green-room.  In  one  hand  was  his 
diamond  snuff-box,  in  the  other  a  richly  laced  handker- 
chief;  his  clouded  cane  reposed  by  his  side. 

There  was  an  air  of  success  about  this  personage. 
The  gentle  reader,  however  conceited  a  dog,  could  not 
see  how  he  was  to  defeat  Sir  Charles,  who  was  tall,  stout, 
handsome,  rich,  witty,  self-sufficient,  cool,  majestic,  cour- 
ageous, and  in  whom  were  united  the  advantages  of  a 
hard  head,  a  tough  stomach,  and  no  heart  at  all. 

This  great  creature  sat  expecting  Mrs.  Wottington,  like 
Olympian  Jove  awaiting  Juno.  But  he  was  mortal  after 
all ;  for  suddenly  the  serenity  of  that  adamrrtitine  coun- 
tenance was  disturbed :  his  eye  dilated,  his  grace  and 
dignity  were  shaken.  He  huddled  his  handkerchief 
into  one  pocket,  his  snuff-box  into  another,  and  forgot 
his  cane.     He  ran  to  the  door  in  unaffected  terror. 

"Where  are  all  his  fine  airs  before  a  real  danger  ? 
Love,    intrigue,    diplomacy,    were   all   driven   from    his 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  71 

mind ;  for  he  beheld  that  approaching,  which  is  the 
greatest  peril  and  disaster  known  to  social  man.  He 
saw  a  bore  coming  into  the  room. 

In  a  wild  thirst  for  novelty,  Pomander  had  once  pene- 
trated to  Goodman's  Fields  Theatre  ;  there  he  had  un- 
guardedly put  a  question  to  a  carpenter  behind  the 
scene  ;  a  seedy-black  poet  instantly  pushed  the  carpenter 
away  (down  a  trap  it  is  thought),  and  answered  it  in 
seven  pages,  and  in  continuation  was  so  vaguely  commu- 
nicative, that  he  drove  Sir  Charles  back  into  the  far 
west. 

Sir  Charles  knew  him  again  in  a  moment,  and  at  sight 
of  him  bolted.  They  met  at  the  door.  "  Ah !  Mr. 
Triplet,"  said  the  fugitive,  "  enchanted  —  to  wish  you 
good  morning ! "  and  he  plunged  into  the  hiding-places 
of  the  theatre. 

"That  is  a  very  polite  gentleman,"  thought  Triplet. 
He  was  followed  by  the  call-boy,  to  whom  he  was  explain- 
ing that  his  avocations,  though  numerous,  would  not 
prevent  his  paying  Mr.  Rich  the  compliment  of  waiting 
all  day  in  his  green-room,  sooner  than  go  without  an 
answer  to  three  important  propositions,  in  which  the 
town  and  the  arts  were  concerned. 

"What  is  your  name  ?  "  said  the  boy  of  business  to 
the  man  of  words. 

"  Mr.  Triplet,"  said  Triplet. 

"  Triplet  ?  There  is  something  for  you  in  the  hall," 
said  the  urchin,  and  went  off  to  fetch  it. 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Triplet  to  himself;  "they  are 
accepted.  There's  a  note  in  the  hall  to  fix  the  reading." 
He  then  derided  his  own  absurdity  in  having  ever  for  a 
moment  desponded.  "  Master  of  three  arts,  by  each  of 
which  men  grow  fat,  how  was  it  possible  he  should 
starve  all  his  days  ! " 

He  enjoyed  a  natural  vanity  for  a  few  moments,  and 


72  PEd    WOFFINdTON. 

then  came  nmre  goniTnus  fi'cliiijjs.  "What  sparkling 
eyes  tliere  would  be  in  Lambeth  to-day  !  The  buteher, 
at  sight  of  Mr.  Rich's  handwriting,  would  give  him 
credit.     Jane  should  havt;  a  new  gown. 

But  when  his  tra^'i'die.s  were  played,  and  he  paid ! 
El  Dorado!  his  children  should  be  the  neatest  in  the 
street.  Lysiuiachus  and  Koxalana  should  learn  the  Eng- 
lish language,  cost  what  it  might;  sausagi'S  should  be 
diurnal;  and  he  himself  would  not  be  })uffed  up,  fat, 
lazy.  Xo  !  ho  would  work  all  the  harder,  be  affable  as 
ever,  and  above  all,  never  swamp  the  father,  husband, 
and  honest  man,  in  the  poet  and  the  blai;kguard  of 
sentiment. 

Next  his  reflections  took  a  business  turn. 

"These  tragedies — the  scenery?  Oh!  1  shall  have 
to  paint  it  myself.  The  herot-s  ?  Well,  they  have  no- 
body wlu)  will  play  them  as  I  .should.  (This  was  true  I) 
It  will  be  hard  wurk,  all  this;  but  then,  1  shall  be  paid 
for  it.  I  cannot  go  on  this  way;  I  must  and  will  be 
paid  separately  for  my  branches," 

Just  as  he  came  to  this  resolution,  the  boy  returned 
with  a  brown-paper  parcel,  addressed  to  >[r.  James 
Triplet.  Triplet  weighed  it  in  his  hand;  it  was  heavy. 
''  How  is  this  ?  "  cried  he.  "  Oh  !  I  see,"  said  he,  "  these 
are  the  tragedies.  He  sends  them  to  me  for  some 
trifling  alterations  :  managers  always  do."  Triplet  then 
determined  to  adopt  these  alterations,  if  judicious;  for, 
argued  he  sensibly  enough :  "  Managers  are  practical 
men:  and  we,  in  the  heat  of  composition,  sometimes 
(sic?)  say  more  than  is  necessary,  and  become  tedious." 

With  that  he  opened  the  parcel,  and  looked  for  Mr. 
Rich's  communication ;  it  was  not  in  sight.  He  had  to 
look  between  the  leaves  of  the  manuscripts  for  it;  it  was 
not  there.  He  shook  them ;  it  did  not  fall  out.  He 
shook  them  as  a  dog  shakes  a  rabbit ;  nothing  1 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  73 

The  tragedies  were  returned  without  a  word.  It  took 
him  some  time  to  realize  the  full  weight  of  the  blow; 
but  at  last  he  saw  that  the  manager  of  the  Theatre  Royal, 
Covent  Garden,  declined  to  take  a  tragedy  by  Triplet 
into  consideration  or  bare  examination. 

He  turned  dizzy  for  a  moment.  Something  between 
a  sigh  and  a  cry  escaped  him,  and  he  sank  upon  a  cov- 
ered bench  that  ran  along  the  wall.  His  poor  tragedies 
fell  here  and  there  upon  the  ground,  and  his  head  went 
down  upon  his  hands,  which  rested  on  ]\Irs.  Woffington's 
picture.  His  anguish  was  so  sharp,  it  choked  his  breath ; 
when  he  recovered  it,  his  eye  bent  down  upon  the  pict- 
ure. "Ah,  Jane,"  he  groaned,  "you  know  this  villan- 
ous  world  better  than  I ! "  He  placed  the  picture  gently 
on  the  seat  (that  picture  must  now  be  turned  into  bread), 
and  slowly  stooped  for  his  tragedies ;  they  had  fallen 
hither  and  thither.  He  had  to  crawl  about  for  them ; 
he  was  an  emblem  of  all  the  humiliations  letters  en- 
dure. 

As  he  went  after  them  on  all-fours,  more  than  one 
tear  pattered  on  the  dusty  floor.  Poor  fellow !  he  was 
Triplet,  and  could  not  have  died  without  tinging  the 
death-rattle  with  some  absurdity  ;  but,  after  all,  he  was 
a  father  driven  to  despair;  a  castle-builder,  with  his 
work  rudely  scattered ;  an  artist,  brutally  crushed  and 
insulted  by  a  greater  dunce  than  himself. 

Faint,  sick,  and  dark,  he  sat  a  moment  on  the  seat 
before  he  could  find  strength  to  go  home  and  destroy  all 
the  hopes  he  had  raised. 

Whilst  Triplet  sat  collapsed  on  the  bench,  fate  sent 
into  the  room  all  in  one  moment,  as  if  to  insult  his 
sorrow,  a  creature  that  seemed  the  goddess  of  gayety, 
impervious  to  a  care.  She  swept  in  with  a  bold  free 
step,  for  she  was  rehearsing  a  man's  part,  and  thundered 
without  rant,  but  with  a  spirit  and  fire,  and  pace,  beyond 


74  PEo  woFKiNtrroN. 

the  confN'jttioii  of  our  poor  tame  actresses  of  1852,  theae 

lines : 

"  Now,  by  the  joys 
Which  my  soul  still  has  uncnntrolli'd  pursmul, 
I  woulil  not  turn  il^'hU-  from  my  least  pleasure, 
Thou'^li  all  tliy  furei-  were  armed  to  l)ar  my  way; 
liut.  likr  the  binls,  great  Nature's  happy  eonununers, 
Kille  tin-  sweet.s"  — 

"  I  be<^ — your  par  —  don,  sir!  "  holding  the  book  on 
a  level  with  her  eye,  she  had  nearly  run  over.  "Two 
j)oets  inst»'ad  of  one." 

"  Nay,  madam,"  said  Triplet,  admiring,  though  sad, 
wretched,  but  jtolite,  '*  pray  continue.  Happy  the  hearer, 
and  still  happier  the  author  of  verses  so  spoken.     Ah  !  " 

''  Yes,"  replied  the  lady,  "  if  you  could  i)ersuade 
authors  wiiat  we  do  for  them,  when  we  coax  good  music 
to  grow  on  barren  words.  Are  you  au  author,  sir?" 
added  she  slyly. 

"  In  a  small  way,  madam.  I  have  here  three  trifles  — 
tragedies." 

Mrs.  WolHngton  looked  askant  at  them  like  a  shy 
mare. 

"  Ah,  madam  ! "  said  Triplet,  in  one  of  his  insane  fits, 
"if  I  might  but  submit  them  to  such  a  judgment  as 
yours  ?  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  them.  It  was  as  when  a  strange 
dog  sees  us  go  to  take  up  a  stone. 

The  actress  recoiled. 

"  I  am  no  judge  of  such  things,"  cried  she  hastily. 

Triplet  bit  his  lip.  He  could  have  killed  her.  It  was 
provoking,  people  would  rather  be  hung  than  read  a 
manuscript.  Yet  what  hopeless  trash  they  will  read  in 
crowds,  which  was  manuscript  a  day  ago.     Les  imbeciles  f 

"  No  more  is  the  manager  of  this  theatre  a  judge  of 
such  things,"  cried  the  outraged  quill-driver  bitterly. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  75 

"  What !  has  he  accepted  them  ?  "  said  needle-tongue. 

"  Xo,  madam,  he  has  had  them  six  months  ;  and  see, 
madam,  he  has  returned  them  me  without  a  word." 

Triplet's  lip  trembled. 

"Patience,  my  good  sir,"  was  the  merry  reply. 
"  Tragic  authors  should  possess  that,  for  they  teach  it 
to  their  audiences.  Managers,  sir,  are  like  Eastern  mon- 
archs,  inaccessible  but  to  slaves  and  sultanas.  .  Do  you 
know  I  called  upon  Mr.  Rich  fifteen  times  before  I  could 
see  him  ?  " 

"  You,  madam  ?     Impossible  ! " 

"Oh,  it  was  years  ago,  and  he  has  paid  a  hundred 
pounds  for  each  of  those  little  visits.  Well,  now,  let  me 
see,  fifteen  times ;  you  must  write  twelve  more  tragedies, 
and  then  he  will  read  one  ;  and  when  he  has  read  it,  he 
will  favor  you  with  his  judgment  upon  it ;  and  when  you 
have  got  that,  you  will  have  what  all  the  world  knows  is 
not  worth  a  farthing.     He !  he  !  he  ! 

'  And  like  the  birds,  gay  Nature's  happy  commoners, 
Rifle  the  sweets '  —  mum  —  mum  —  mum.' " 

Her  high  spirits  made  Triplet  sadder.  To  think  that 
one  word  from  this  laughing  lady  would  secure  his  work 
a  hearing,  and  that  he  dared  not  ask  her.  She  was  up  in 
the  world,  he  was  down.  She  was  great,  he  was  nobody. 
He  felt  a  sort  of  chill  at  this  woman  —  all  brains  and  no 
heart.  He  took  his  picture  and  his  plays  under  his  arms 
and  crept  sorrowfully  away. 

The  actress's  eye  fell  on  him  as  he  went  off  like  a  fifth 
act.  His  Don  Quixote  face  struck  her.  She  had  seen  it 
before. 

"  Sir,"  said  she. 

"  Madam,"  said  Triplet,  at  the  door. 

"We  have  met  before.     There,  don't  speak,  I'll  tell 


76  vva;  woffington. 

you  who  you  are.  Yours  is  a  face  tliat  has  been  good  to 
Die,  and  I  never  for^'et  tht'in." 

'•  Me,  mudiini  ?  "  said  Triplet,  taken  aback.  '*  I  trust 
I  know  what  is  due  to  you  b»'tt«T  than  to  be  good  to  you, 
madam,"  said  he,  in  his  confused  way. 

'•To  bt'  sure!  "  cried  she,  "  it  is  Mr.  Triplet,  pood  Mr. 
Trijjh't!''  And  this  vivacious  damt\  putting  her  book 
down,  seized  both  Tri[)h*t's  hands  and  shook  them. 

He  shook  hers  warmly  in  return  out  of  excess  of 
timidity,  and  droppnl  tragedies,  and  kicked  at  them  con- 
vulsively when  th«v  wi-ro  down,  for  fear  they  should  be 
in  her  way,  and  his  mouth  opened,  and  his  eyes  glared. 

"Mr.  Triplet,"  said  the  lady,  "do  you  remember  an 
Irish  orange  girl  you  used  to  give  sixpence  to  at  Good- 
man's Fitdds,  and  jKit  her  on  tin-  lu-ad  and  give  her  good 
advice,  like  a  goo<l  old  soul  as  \(.ii  wi-rc  *.'  Shf  took  the 
sixpence." 

"  Madam,"  said  Trip,  rectivtrin^'  a  gram  ut  poinj), 
"singular  as  it  may  appear,  I  renn'iiibtT  the  young  i)f'r- 
son ;  she  was  very  engaging.  I  trust  no  harm  hath  be- 
fallen her,  for  methought  I  discovered,  in  spite  of  her 
brogue,  a  beautiful  nature  in  her." 

"  Go  along  wid  your  blarney,"  answered  a  rich  brogue  ; 
"  an  is  it  the  comanther  ye'd  be  putting  on  poor  little 

Peggy?" 

"  Oh  !  oh  gracious  !  "  gasped  Triplet. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply  ;  but  into  that  "  yes,"  she  threw 
a  whole  sentence  of  meaning.  "  Fine  cha-ney  oranges !  " 
chanted  she,  to  put  the  matter  beyond  dispute. 

"  Am  I  really  so  honored  as  to  have  patted  you  on 
that  queen-like  head  !  "  and  he  glared  at  it. 

"  On  the  same  head  which  now  I  wear,"  replied  she, 
pompously.  "  T  kept  it  for  the  convaynience  hintirely, 
only  there's  more  in  it.  Well.  Mr.  Triplet,  you  see  what 
time  has  done  for  me  j  now  tell  me  whether  he  has  been 


PEG    WOFFESTGTON.  77 

as  kind  to  you ;  are  you  going  to  speak  to  me,  Mr. 
Triplet  ?  " 

As  a  decayed  hunter  stands  lean  and  disconsolate, 
head  poked  forward  like  a  goose's,  but  if  hounds  sweep 
by  his  paddock  in  full  cry,  followed  by  horses  who  are 
what  he  was  not,  he  does  by  reason  of  the  good  blood 
that  is  and  will  be  in  his  heart,  dum.  spiritus  hoss  regit 
artus,  cock  his  ears,  erect  his  tail,  and  trot  fiery  to  his 
extremest  hedge,  and  look  over  it,  nostril  distended, 
mane  flowing,  and  neigh  the  hunt  onward  like  a 
trumpet ;  so  Triplet,  who  had  manhood  at  bottom,  in- 
stead of  whining  out  his  troubles  in  the  ear  of  encour- 
aging beauty,  as  a  sneaking  spirit  would,  perked  up,  and 
resolved  to  put  the  best  face  upon  it  all  before  so  charm- 
ing a  creature  of  the  other  sex. 

"Yes,  madam,"  cried  he,  with  the  air  of  one  who  could 
have  smacked  his  lips,  "  Providence  has  blessed  me  with 
an  excellent  wife  and  four  charming  children.  My  wife 
was  Miss  Chatterton  ;  you  remember  her  ?  " 

"  Yes  !     Where  is  she  playing  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  madam,  her  health  is  too  weak  for  it." 

"  Oh  !  —  you  were  scene-painter.  Do  you  still  paint 
scenes  ?  " 

"  With  the  pen,  madam,  not  the  brush ;  as  the  wags 
said,  I  transferred  the  distemper  from  my  canvas  to  my 
imagination."     And  Triplet  laughed  uproariously. 

When  he  had  done,  Mrs.  Woffington,  who  had  joined 
the  laugh,  inquired  quietly  whether  his  pieces  had  met 
with  success. 

''  Eminent  —  in  the  closet ;  the  stage  is  to  come  !  " 
and  he  smiled  absurdly  again. 

The  lady  smiled  back. 

"In  short," said  Triplet,  recapitulating,  "being  blessed 
with  health,  and  more  tastes  in  the  arts  than  most,  and  a 
cheerful  spirit,  I  should  be  wrong,  madam,  to  repine  j 


78  PE(;    \V<^KFINOTON. 

and  this  day,  in  particular,  is  a  happy  oin*,"  abided  the 
rose  folorist,  "since  the  >;reat  Mrs.  Wuttington  has 
deijjned  to  remember  nu',  and  call  me  friend." 

Such  was  Triplet's  summary. 

Mrs.  Wotfinjjton  drew  out  her  mem(irandum-l)ook.  and 
took  down  her  summary  of  the  crafty  TripU't's  facts.  So 
easy  is  it  for  us  Trij)lets  to  draw  the  wool  over  the  eyes 
of  women  and  Woffin^^tons. 

*'  Triplet,  dischargetl  from  scene-painting,  wife,  no  en- 
gagement; four  children  supported  by  his  pen  —  that  is 
tt)  say,  starving;  lose  no  time!" 

She  closed  her  U>ok  ;  and  smiled,  and  said  : 

"  I  wish  th»'S»'  things  were  comedies  instead  of  trash- 
edies,  as  the  French  call  them  ;  we  would  cut  one  in 
half,  and  slice  away  the  finest  passages,  and  then  I  would 
!U't  in  it;  and  you  would  see  how  the  stage-door  would 
tiy  open  at  sight  of  the  author." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  ! "  said  poor  Trip,  excited  by  this  pict- 
ure.    "  I'll  go  home,  and  write  a  comedy  this  moment." 

"  Stay  I "  said  she ;  '•  you  had  better  leave  the  tragedies 
with  me." 

•'  My  dear  madam  I     You  will  read  them  ?  " 

"  Ahem  I     I  will  make  poor  Rich  read  them." 

"  But,  madam,  he  has  rejected  them." 

*'  That  is  the  first  step.  Reading  them  comes  after, 
when  it  comes  at  all.  What  have  you  got  in  that  green 
baize  ?  " 

*'  In  this  green  baize  ?  " 

"  "Well,  in  this  green  baize,  then." 

"  Oh,  madam  !  nothing  —  nothing  !  To  tell  the  truth, 
it  is  an  adventurous  attempt  from  memory.  I  saw  you 
play  Silvia,  madam  ;  I  was  so  charmed,  that  I  came 
every  night.  I  took  your  face  home  with  me  —  forgive 
my  presumption,  madam — and  I  produced  this  faint 
adumbration,  which  I  expose  with  diffidence." 


PEG    WOFFIXGTON.  79 

So  then  he  took  the  green  baize  off. 

The  color  rushed  into  her  faee ;  she  was  evidently 
gratified.  Poor,  silly  !Mrs.  Triplet  was  doomed  to  be 
right  about  this  portrait. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  sitting,"  said  she.  "  You  will  find 
painting  dull  faces  a  better  trade  than  writing  dull  trage- 
dies. Work  for  other  people's  vanity,  not  your  own ; 
that  is  the  art  of  art.  And  now  I  want  Mr.  Triplet's 
address." 

"  On  the  fly-leaf  of  each  work,  madam,'"  replied  that 
florid  author,  ••  and  also  at  the  foot  of  every  page  which 
contains  a  particularly  brilliant  passage,  I  have  been 
careful  to  insert  the  address  of  James  Triplet,  painter, 
actor,  and  dramatist,  and  Mrs.  Woffington's  humble, 
devoted  servant."  He  bowed  ridiculously  low,  and 
moved  towards  the  door ;  but  something  gushed  across 
his  heart,  and  he  returned  with  lon^  strides  to  her. 
*•  Madam  I '"  cried  he.  with  a  jaunty  manner.  ••  you  have 
inspired  a  son  of  Thespis  with  dreams  of  eloquence,  you 
have  tuned  in  a  higher  key  a  poet's  lyre,  you  have  tinged 
a  painter's  existence  with  brighter  colors,  and  —  and"  — 
His  mouth  worked  still,  but  no  more  artificial  words 
would  come.  He  sobbed  out,  "  and  God  in  heaven  bless 
you,  Mrs.  Woffington  !  "  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Woffington  looked  after  him  with  interest,  for 
this  confirmed  her  suspicions :  but  suddenly  her  expres- 
sion changed  ;  she  wore  a  look  we  have  not  yet  seen 
upon  her  —  it  was  a  half-cunning,  half-spiteful  look  ;  it 
was  suppressed  in  a  moment,  she  gave  herself  to  her 
book,  and  presently  Sir  Charles  Pomander  sauntered 
into  the  room. 

"  Ah  !  what,  Mrs.  Woffington  here  ?  "  said  the  diplo- 
mate. 

"  Sir  Charles  Pomander.  I  declare  I "  said  the  actress. 

"  I  have  just  parted  with  an  admirer  of  yours." 


80  rK<;  woKi-iNciTON. 

"T  wish  I  could  part  with  th»>in  all."  was  the  reply. 

"A  pastoral  youth,  who  means  to  win  La  \\'()fhn/rtoii 
by  agricultural  courtship  —  as  shepherds  woo  in  sylvan 
shades." 

"  With  n;itiii  pipi'  tiic  rustii-  niaiiis,"' 

quoth  the  \VotKn<,'ton.  improvising. 

The  diploniatc  lau^'hed,  the  actress  laufjhed,  and  said, 
laughingly  :  "  Tell  me  what  he  n'ti/s,  word  for  word?" 

"It  will  <Mily  make  you  laugh." 

"Well,  and  am  1  never  to  laugh,  who  provide  so  many 
laughs  for  you  all  ?  " 

,  "  C'e.sf  juste.  Vou  shall  share  the  general  merriment. 
Imagiiu'  a  romantic  soul,  who  adores  you  tor  i/our  situ- 
plicltif !  " 

"  My  sim|)licitv  I     Am  I  so  very  simple  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Sir  Charles,  moustrous  dryly.  "He  says 
you  are  out  of  place  on  the  stage,  and  wants  to  take  the 
star  from  its  tirnuiment,  and  put  it  in  a  cottage." 

"  I  am  not  a  star,"  replied  the  Wothngton.  "  I  am  only 
a  meteor.  And  what  does  the  man  think  I  am  to  do 
without  this  (here  she  imitated  applause)  from  my  dear 
public's  thousand  hands  ■'  " 

"  You  are  to  have  this  (he  iiiiiniekcd  ;i  kiss),  from  a 
single  mouth,  instead." 

"  He  is  mad  !  Tell  me  what  more  he  says.  Oh  !  don't 
stop  to  invent:  T  shouhl  detect  you  ;  and  you  would  only 
spoil  this  man." 

He  laughed  conceitedly.  "  I  should  spoil  him !  Well 
then,  he  proposes  to  be  your  friend  rather  than  your 
lover,  and  keep  you  from  being  talked  of.  He !  he ! 
instead  of  adding  to  your  eclat" 

"  And  if  he  is  your  friend,  why  don't  you  tell  him  my 
real  character,  and  send  him  into  the  country  ?" 

She  said  this  rnpidly  and  with  an  :ipp*^arance  of  ear- 
nest.    The  diplomatist  fell  into  the  trap. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  81 

*'  I  do,"  said  he  ;  "  but  he  snaps  his  fingers  at  me  and 
common  sense  and  the  world.  I  really  think  there  is 
only  one  way  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  with  him  of  every 
annoyance." 

"  Ah  !  that  would  be  nice." 

"  Delicious  !  I  had  the  honor,  madam,  of  laying  cer- 
tain proposals  at  your  feet." 

"  Oh  !  yes  —  your  letter.  Sir  Charles.  I  have  only  just 
had  time  to  run  my  eye  down  it.  Let  us  examine  it 
together." 

She  took  out  the  letter  with  a  wonderful  appearance 
of  interest,  and  the  diplomate  allowed  himself  to  fall 
into  the  absurd  position  to  which  che  invited  him. 
They  put  their  two  heads  together  over  the  letter. 

"  '  A  coach,  a  country-house,  pin-money  '  —  and  I'm  so 
tired  of  houses  and  coaches  and  pins.  Oh,  yes,  here's 
something;  what  is  this  you  offer  me,  up  in  this 
corner  ? " 

Sir  Charles  inspected  the  place  carefully,  and  an- 
nounced that  it  was  'Miis  heart." 

"  And  he  can't  even  write  it !  "  said  she.  "  That  word 
is  'earth.'  Ah!  well,  you  know  best.  There  is  your 
letter.  Sir  Charles." 

She  courtesied,  returned  him  the  letter,  and  resumed 
her  study  of  Lothario. 

"  Favor  me  with  your  answer,  madam,"  said  her 
suitor. 

"  You  have  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"Madam,  I  don't  understand  your  answer,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  stiffly.  < 

"  I  can't  find  you  answers  and  understandings  too," 
was  the  ladylike  reply.  "  You  must  beat  my  answer 
into  your  understanding  whilst  I  beat  this  man's  verse 
into  mine. 

'  And  like  the  birds,' "  etc. 
0 


82  PE(;    NVoKKINd  TON. 

Tomander  recovert'd  himself  a  little;  he  laughed  vith 
(piiot  insolence.  "Tell  nie/'  said  he,  "do  yon  really 
refuse  ?  " 

"My  good  soul."  said  Mrs.  Woftington,  "why  this  sur- 
prise '.'  Are  you  so  ignorant  of  the  stage  and  the  world, 
as  nr)t  to  know  that  I  ndusi-  such  otTi  is  as  yours  every 
week  of  my  life?  " 

"  I  know  better,"  was  the  cool  reply.  She  left  it 
unnoticed. 

•  I  have  so  many  of  these,"  continued  she,  "  that  I 
have  begun  to  forget  they  are  insults." 

At  this  word  the  button  broke  off  Sir  Charles's  foil. 

"  Insults,  ma<l  in  !  Tiiey  are  the  highest  compliments 
you  have  left  it  in  our  power  to  pay  you." 

The  other  took  the  button  off  her  foil. 

"  Indeed  I  "  cried  she,  with  well-feigned  surprise.  "Oh  ! 
I  understand.  To  be  your  mistress,  could  be  but  a  tem- 
f)orary  disgrace;  to  be  your  wife,  would  be  a  lasting 
discredit,"  she  continued.  "  .Viid  now,  sir,  having  played 
your  rival's  game,  and  showed  me  your  whole  hand 
(a  light  broke  in  ujton  our  diplomate),  do  something  to 
recover  the  reputation  of  a  man  of  the  world.  A  gentle- 
man is  somewhere  about  in  whom  you  have  interested 
me  by  your  lame  satire ;  pray  tell  him  I  am  in  the 
green-room,  with  no  better  companion  than  this  bad 
poet." 

Sir  Charles  clenched  his  teeth. 

"I  accept  the  delicate  commission,"  replied  he,  "that 
you  may  see  how  easily  the  man  of  the  world  drops 
what  the  rustic  is  eager  to  pick  up." 

"That  is  better,"  said  the  actress,  with  a  provoking 
appearance  of  good  humor.  "  You  have  a  woman's 
tongue,  if  not  her  wit ;  but,  my  good  soul,"  added  she, 
with  cool  hauteur,  -remember  you  have  something  to 
do  of  more  importance  than  anything  you  can  say." 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  83 

"I  accept  your  courteous  dismissal,  madam,"  said 
Pomander,  grinding  his  teeth.  "  I  will  send  a  carpenter 
for  your  swain ;  and  I  leave  you." 

He  bowed  to  the  ground. 

"Thanks  for  the  double  favor,  good  Sir  Charles." 

She  courtesied  to  the  floor. 

Feminine  vengeance  !  He  had  come  between  her  and 
her  love.  All  very  clever,  Mrs.  Actress ;  but  was  it 
wise  ? 

"I  am  revenged,"  thought  Mrs.  Woffington,  with  a 
little  feminine  smirk. 

"  I  will  be  revenged,"  vowed  Pomander,  clenching  his 
teeth. 


84  I'VM    NVOFP'INGTON. 


CHAPTElt    VIT. 

Compare  a  NovenilMi-  day  with  a  May  day.  They  are 
not  more  unlike  than  a  beautiful  woman  in  romjtany 
with  a  man  shr  is  indilTiTcnt  to  or  aversr.  and  tlir  .siimi- 
woman  with  the  man  of  her  heart  by  her  side. 

At  sight  of  Mr.  Vane,  all  her  coldness  and  nnurifiinure 
gave  way  to  a  gentle  ct)mplacencv  ;  and  wlien  she  spoke 
to  him,  her  voice,  so  clear  and  cutting  in  the  late  asunut 
d^armes,  sank  of  its  own  accord  into  the  most  tender, 
delicious  tone  imaginable. 

Mr.  Vane  and  she  made  love.  He  pleased  her,  and 
she  desired  to  please  him.  My  reader  knows  her  wit, 
her  Jinesse,  her  fluency ;  but  he  cannot  conceive  how 
god-like  was  her  way  of  making  love.  I  can  put  a  few 
of  the  corpses  of  her  words  upon  paper,  but  where  are 
the  heavenly  tones  —  now  calm  and  convincing,  now  soft 
and  melancholy,  now  thrilling  with  tenderness,  now  glow- 
ing with  the  fiery  eloquence  of  passion  ?  She  told  him 
that  she  knew  the  map  of  his  face ;  that,  for  some  days 
past,  he  had  been  subject  to  an  influence  adverse  to  her. 
She  begged  him  calmly,  for  his  own  sake,  to  distrust 
false  friends,  and  judge  her  by  his  own  heart,  eyes,  and 
judgment.     He  promised  her  he  would. 

"And  I  do  trust  you,  in  spite  of  them  all,"  said  he, 
"  for  your  face  is  the  shrine  of  sincerity  and  candor.  I 
alone  know  you." 

Then  she  prayed  him  to  observe  the  heartlessness  of 
his  sex,  and  to  say  whether  she  had  done  ill  to  hide  the 
riches  of  her  heart  from  the  cold  and  shallow,  and  to 
keep  them  all  for  one  honest,  man,  ''  who  will  be  my 
friend,  I  hope,"  said  she,  "  as  well  as  my  lover." 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  85 

"Ah!"  said  Vane,  ''that  is  my  ambition." 

"  We  actresses,"  said  she,  "  make  good  the  old  proverb, 
'Many  lovers,  but  few  friends.'  And  oh !  'tis  we  who 
need  a  friend.     Will  you  be  mine  ?  " 

Whilst  he  lived,  he  would. 

In  turn,  he  begged  her  to  be  generous,  and  tell  him 
the  way  for  him,  Ernest  Vane,  inferior  in  wit  and  address 
to  many  of  her  admirers,  to  win  her  heart  from  them 
all. 

This  singular  woman's  answer  is,  I  think,  worth  at- 
tention. 

"Never  act  in  my  presence  ;  never  try  to  be  eloquent 
or  clever ;  never  force  a  sentiment,  or  turn  a  phrase. 
Remember,  I  am  the  goddess  of  tricks.  Do  not  descend 
to  competition  with  me  and  the  Pomanders  of  the  world. 
At  all  littlenesses,  you  will  ever  be  awkward  in  my  eyes. 
And  I  am  a  woman.  I  must  have  a  superior  to  love  —  lie 
open  to  my  eye.  Light  itself  is  not  more  beautiful  than 
the  upright  man  whose  bosom  is  open  to  the  day.  Oh, 
yes !  fear  not  you  will  be  my  superior,  dear ;  for  in  me 
honesty  has  to  struggle  against  the  habits  of  my  art  and 
life.  Be  simple  and  sincere,  and  I  shall  love  you,  and 
bless  the  hour  you  shone  upon  my  cold,  artificial  life. 
Ah,  Ernest ! "  said  she,  fixing  on  his  eyes  her  own,  the 
fire  of  which  melted  into  tenderness  as  she  spoke,  "  be 
my  friend.  Come  between  me  and  the  temptations  of 
an  unprotected  life,  —  the  recklessness  of  a  vacant 
heart." 

He  threw  himself  at  her  feet.  He  called  her  an 
angel.  He  told  her  he  was  unworthy  of  her,  but  that 
he  would  try  and  deserve  her.  Then  he  hesitated,  and, 
trembling,  he  said,  — 

"I  will  be  frank  and  loyal.  Had  I  not  better  tell 
you  everything  ?  You  will  not  hate  me  for  a  confession 
I  make  myself  ?  " 


S6  PEO    WOFFINOTON. 

"I  shall  like  you  betb'r ;  oli,  so  murli  better!** 

"  Then  I  will  own  to  y«>u  "  — 

"  Oh  I  do  not  t«*ll  nu'  you  have  ever  loved  before  met 
I  could  not  bear  to  hear  it,"  cried  this  inconsistent  per- 
8onai,'e. 

The  otlnT  weak  creature  needed  no  more, 

♦*  I  see  plainly  I  never  loved  but  you,"  said  he. 

**  Let  me  hear  that  t)nly  I"  cried  she  ;  "  I  am  jealous 
even  of  the  past.  Say  you  never  loved  but  nje :  never 
mind  whether  it  is  true.  My  child,  you  do  not  even 
yt't  know  loviv  Ernest,  shall  I  make  you  hivi-  — as  none 
of  your  sex  ever  loved — with  lu-art.  and  luain,  and 
breath,  and  life,  and  soul  ?  " 

With  tljese  rapturous  words  she  |M)ured  the  soul  of 
love  into  his  ♦•yes;  he  f«)r^ot  evcrythini;  in  the  world  but 
her;  he  dissolved  in  j)resent  happiness,  and  vowed  him- 
self hers  forever;  and  she,  for  her  part,  bade  him  but 
retain  her  esteem,  and  no  woman  ever  went  further  in 
love  than  she  w«)uld.  Siie  was  a  true  epicure  :  slu-  had 
learned  that  passion,  vulgar  in  itself,  is  godlike  when 
biised  ujK)n  esteem. 

This  tender  scene  was  interrupted  by  the  call-boy, 
who  brought  Mrs.  \V<)tliiii,'ton  a  note  from  the  manager, 
informing  her  there  would  b<*  no  rehearsal.  This  left  her 
at  liberty,  and  she  proceeded  to  take  a  somewhat  abrupt 
leave  of  Mr.  Vane.  He  was  endeavoring  to  jtersuade  her 
to  let  him  be  her  companion  until  dinner-time  (she  was 
to  be  his  guest),  when  Pomander  entered  the  room. 

Mrs.  Woffington.  however,  was  not  to  be  persuaded; 
she  excused  herself  on  the  score  of  a  duty  which  she 
said  she  had  to  perform,  and  whispering  as  she  passed 
Pomander,  "  Keep  your  own  counsel,"  she  went  out 
rather  precipitately. 

Vane  looked  slightly  disapi>f)inted. 

Sir  Charles,  who  had  returned  to  see  whether  (as  he 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  87 

fully  expected)  she  had  told  Vane  everything,  and  AS'ho, 
at  that  moment,  perhaps,  ■would  not  have  been  sorry  had 
Mrs.  "Woffington's  lover  called  him  to  serious  account, 
finding  it  was  not  her  intention  to  make  mischief,  and 
not  choosing  to  publish  his  own  defeat,  dropped  quietly 
into  his  old  line,  and  determined  to  keep  the  lovers  in 
sight,  and  play  for  revenge.  He  smiled  and  said,  "  My 
good  sir,  nobody  can  hope  to  monopolize  Mrs.  Wof&ng- 
ton :  she  has  others  to  do  justice  to  besides  you." 

To  his  surprise,  Mr.  Vane  turned  instantly  round  upon 
him,  and  lookiug  him  haughtily  in  the  face,  said,  "  Sir 
Charles  Pomander,  the  settled  malignity  with  which  j-ou 
pursue  that  lady  is  unmanly  and  offensive  to  me,  who 
love  her.  Let  our  acquaintance  cease  here,  if  you 
please,  or  let  her  be  sacred  from  your  venomous  tongue." 

Sir  Charles  bowed  stiffly,  and  replied,  that  it  was  only 
due  to  himself  to  withdraw  a  protection  so  little  appre- 
ciated. 

The  two  friends  were  in  the  very  act  of  separating  for- 
ever, when  who  should  ruu  in  but  Pompey  the  renegade  ? 
He  darted  up  to  Sir  Charles  and  said.  '•  ^lassa  Poman- 
nah,  she  in  a  coach,  going  to  10  Hercules  Buildings.  I'm 
in  a  hurry,  !Massa  Pomannah." 

'•  "Where  ?  "  cried  Pomander.     "  Say  that  again." 

"10  Hercules  Buildings,  Lambeth.  Me  in  a  hurry, 
Massa  Pomannah." 

"  Faithful  child,  there's  a  guinea  for  thee.     Fly ! " 

The  slave  flew,  and,  taking  a  short  cut,  caught  and 
fastened  on  to  the  slow  vehicle  in  the  Strand. 

"  It  is  a  house  of  rendezvous,"  said  Sir  Charles,  half  to 
himself,  half  to  ^Ir.  Vane.  He  repeated  in  triumph,  "  It 
is  a  house  of  rendezvous."  He  then,  recovering  his  sang- 
froid, and  treating  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course,  explained 
that  at  10  Hercules  Buildings,  was  a  fashionable  shop, 
with  entrances  from  two  streets ;  that  the  best  Indian 


88  VKV,    VVOFFINGTON. 

scarfs  and  shawls  w»'re  sold  there,  and  that  ladies  kept 
thfir  earriap's  waitiiij^  an  inmu-nse  time-  in  tin'  princi- 
pal  str«'«'t,  whilst  tln'v  wrro  sujiposcd  to  be  in  the  shop 
or  the  show-room.  He  then  went  on  to  say  that  he  had 
only  this  morninij  lu'ard  that  the  intinuu'y  between  Mrs. 
W'otlinj^ton  ami  a  Colonel  Murthwaiti',  although  pulv 
licly  broken  off  for  prudential  reasons,  was  still  elan- 
ilestinely  carried  on.  She  hiid,  doubtless,  slipped  away 
to  meet  the  colonel. 

Mr.  Vane  turned  pale. 

''No!  1  will  not  sus{)ect.  I  will  not  dog  her  like  a 
bloodhound,"  cried  he. 

**  I  will,"  saiil  I'oniander. 

"You?     Hy  what  riK'iit?" 

'♦The  ri;,'ht  of  euriosity.  I  will  know  whether  it  is 
you  who  are  injposed  on,  or  whether  you  are  ri^'ht,  and 
all  the  world  is  deceived  in  this  woinan." 

He  ran  out;  but,  for  all  his  speed,  when  he  f»ot  into 
the  street,  there  was  the  jealous  lover  at  his  elbow. 
They  darted  with  all  speed  into  the  Stmnd  :  got  a  coach. 
Sir  Charles,  on  the  box,  gave  Jehu  a  ^'uinea,  and  took 
the  reins,  and  by  a  Niagara  of  whiiM'ord  they  attained 
Tjambeth  ;  and  at  length,  to  his  delight,  Toniander  saw 
another  coach  before  hinj  with  a  gold-laced  black  slave 
behind  it.  The  coacdi  stopped,  and  the  slave  came  to 
the  door.  The  shop  in  (]uestion  was  a  few  hundred 
yards  tlistant.  The  adroit  Sir  Charles  not  only  stopjted, 
but  turned  his  coach,  ami  let  the  horses  crawl  back 
towards  London  :  he  also  tlogged  the  side  panels  to  draw 
the  attention  of  Mr.  Vane.  That  gentleman  looked 
through  the  little  circular  window  at  the  back  of  the 
vehicle,  and  saw  a  lady  paying  the  coachman.  There 
was  no  mistaking  her  figure.  This  lady  then,  followed 
at  a  distance  by  her  slave,  walked  on  towards  Hercules 
Buildings ;  and  it  was  his  miserable  fate  to  see  her  look 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  89 

uneasily  round,  and  at  last  glide  in  at  a  side  door,  close 
to  the  silk  mercer's  shop. 

The  carriage  stopped.  Sir  Charles  came  himself  to 
the  door. 

"Now,  Vane,"  said  he,  "before  I  consent  to  go  any- 
further  in  this  business,  you  mvist  promise  me  to  be  cool 
and  reasonable.  I  abhor  absurdity  ;  and  there  must  be 
no  swords  drawn  for  this  little  hypocrite." 

"I  submit  to  no  dictation,"  said  Vane,  white  as  a  sheet. 

"You  have  benefited  so  far  by  ray  knowledge,"  said 
the  other,  politely ;  "  let  me,  who  am  self-possessed, 
claim  some  influence  with  you." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  poor  Vane.  "  My  ang —  my  sorrow 
that  such  an  angel  should  be  a  monster  of  deceit  "  — 
He  could  say  no  more. 

They  walked  to  the  shop. 

"How  she  peeped,  this  way,  and  that,"  said  Pomander; 
"  sly  little  Woffy  ! 

"No;  on  second  thoughts,"  said  he,  ''it  is  the  other 
street  we  must  reconnoitre  ;  and  if  we  don't  see  her  there, 
we  will  enter  the  shop,  and  by  dint  of  this  purse^  we 
shall  soon  untie  the  knot  of  the  Woffington  riddle." 

Vane  leaned  heavily  on  his  tormentor. 

"  I  am  faint,"  said  he. 

"Lean  on  me,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Sir  Charles. 
"  Your  weakness  will  leave  you  in  the  next  street." 

In  the  next  street  they  discovered  —  nothing.  In  the 
shop  they  found  —  no  Mrs.  Woffington.  They  returned 
to  the  principal  street.  Vane  began  to  hope  there  was 
no  positive  evidence.  Suddenly,  three  stories  up,  a  fiddle 
was  heard.  Pomander  took  no  notice,  but  Vane  turned 
red ;  this  put  Sir  Charles  upon  the  scent. 

"  Stay,"  said  he.     "  Is  not  that  an  Irish  tune  ?  " 

Vane  groaned.  He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  hissed  out : 


90  rE(i   \V()FF1N(;ton. 

"  It  is  her  favorite  tune." 

"  Aha  I  "  said  Pomander.     "  Follow  me  !  " 

They  crept  up  the  stairs,  Pomander  in  advance;  they 
heard  the  signs  of  an  Irish  orgie  —  a  rattling  jig  played, 
and  danced  with  the  inspiriting  interjections  of  that 
frolicsome  nation.  These  sounds  ceased  after  awhile, 
and  Pomander  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder: 

"  I  prepare  you,"  said  he,  "  for  what  you  are  sure  to 
see.  This  woman  wa.s  an  Irish  bricklayer's  daughter, 
and  '  what  is  bred  in  the  bone  never  comes  out  of  tho 
flesh;'  you  will  find  her  sitting  on  soin<-  Irishman's  knee, 
whose  limbs  are  ever  so  much  stouter  than  yours.  You 
are  the  man  of  her  head,  and  this  is  the  man  of  her 
heart.  These  things  would  be  monstrous,"  if  they  were 
not  common  ;  incredible,  if  w»'  did  not  see  them  every 
day.  But  this  jMKir  fellow,  whom  probal)ly  she  deceives 
as  well  as  you,  is  not  to  be  sacrificed  like  a  dog  to  your 
unjust  wrath ;  he  is  as  siiperior  to  her,  as  you  are  to 
him." 

"  I  will  commit  no  violence,"  said  \'aiic.  "  I  still  hope 
she  is  innocent." 

Pomander  smiled,  and  said  he  hoped  so  too. 

"  And  if  she  is  what  you  think.  I  will  but  show  her 
she  is  known,  and  blaming  myself  as  much  as  her  —  oh, 
yes  I  more  than  her!  —  I  will  go  down  this  night  to 
Shropshire,  and  never  speak  word  to  her  again  in  this 
world  or  the  next." 

"Good."  said  Sir  Charles. 

" '  Le  bruit  est  pour  le  fat.  la  plainte  est  pour  le  sot, 
L'honnete  homme  tromp6  s'^ioigne  et  ne  dit  mot.' 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  follow  me." 

Turning  the  handle  gently,  he  opened  the  door  like 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  91 

lightning,  and  was  in  the  room.  Vane's  head  peered 
over  his  shoulder.     She  was  actually  there  ! 

For  once  in  her  life,  the  cautious  artful  woman  was 
taken  by  surprise.  She  gave  a  little  scream,  and  turned 
as  red  as  fire.  But  Sir  Charles  surprised  somebody  else 
even  more  than  he  did  poor  Mrs.  Woffington. 

It  would  be  impertinent  to  tantalize  my  reader,  but  I 
flatter  myself  this  history  is  not  written  with  power 
enough  to  do  that,  and  I  may  venture  to  leave  him  to 
guess  whom  Sir  Charles  Pomander  surprised  more  than 
he  did  the  actress,  while  I  go  back  for  the  lagging 
sheep. 


92  I'EU    WOFKINGTON. 


CHAriER  VI ri. 

Jamks  Tuu'lkt,  watfr  in  liis  eye,  but  fire  in  liis  heart, 
went  home  on  win.L;s.  Arrived  there,  lie  anticiputecl 
curiosity  l)y  inlonning  all  hands  he  should  answer  no 
questions.  Only  in  the  intervals  of  a  work,  which  was 
to  take  the  family  out  of  all  its  troubles,  he  should 
gradually  unfold  a  tale,  verging  on  the  marvellous  —  a 
tale  whose  only  fault  was,  that  fiction,  by  which  alone 
the  family  could  hope  to  be  great,  paled  beside  it.  He 
then  seized  some  sheets  of  pa|)er,  fished  out  some  old 
dramatic  sketches,  and  a  list  of  dramatis  personcp,  ])re- 
pared  years  ago,  and  plunged  into  a  comedy.  As  he 
wrote,  true  to  his  promise,  he  painted,  Triplet-wise,  that 
story  whii'h  we  have  coldly  related,  and  made  it  appear 
to  all  but  Mrs.  Triplet,  that  he  was  under  the  tutela,  or 
express  protection  of  ^Irs.  Wottington.  who  would  push 
his  fortunes  until  the  only  difficulty  would  be  to  keep 
arrogance  out  of  the  family  heart. 

Mrs.  Triplet  groaned  aloud.  "  You  have  brought  the 
picture  home,  I  see,"  said  she. 

"  Of  course  I  have.     She  is  going  to  give  me  a  sitting." 

"At  what  hour  of  what  day?"  said  Mrs.  Triplet, 
with  a  world  of  meaning. 

"  She  did  not  say,"  replied  Triplet,  avoiding  his  wife's 

eye.  , 

"I  know  she  did  not,"  was  the  answer.  "I  would 
rather  you  had  brought  me  the  ten  shillings  than  this 
fine  story,"  said  she. 

"  Wife,"  said  Triplet,  •'  don't  put  me  into  a  frame  of 
mind    in  which  successful   comedies   are   not  written." 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  93 

He  scribbled  away,  but  bis  wife's  despondenc}'  told  upon 
the  man  of  disappointments.  Then  he  stuck  fast ;  then 
he  became  fidgety. 

"  Do  keep  those  children  quiet ! "  said  the  father. 

"  Hush,  my  4ears,"  said  the  mother ;  "  let  your  father 
write.  Comedy  seems  to  give  you  more  trouble  than 
tragedy,  James,"  added  she  soothingly. 

"  Yes,"  was  his  answer.  "  Sorrow  comes,  somehow, 
more  natural  to  me ;  but  for  all  that  I  have  got  a  bright 
thought,  Mrs.  Triplet.  Listen,  all  of  you.  You  see, 
Jane,  they  are  all  at  a  sumptuous  banquet,  all  the 
dramatis  persona;,  except  the  poet." 

Triplet  went  on  writing,  and  reading  his  work  out : 
"  Music,  sparkling  wine,  massive  plate,  rose-water  in  the 
hand-glasses,  soup,  fish  —  shall  I  have  three  sorts  of 
fish  ?  I  will ;  they  are  cheap  in  this  market.  Ah ! 
Fortune,  you  wretch,  here,  at  least,  I  am  your  master, 
and  I'll  make  you  know  it — venison,"  wrote  Triplet, 
with  a  malicious  grin,  "  game,  pickles,  and  provocatives 
in  the  centre  of  the  table,  then  up  jumps  one  of  the 
guests,  and  says  he  "  — 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  am  so  hungry." 

This  was  not  from  the  comedy,  but  from  one  of  the 
boys. 

"  And  so  am  I,"  cried  a  girl. 

"  That  is  an  absurd  remark,  Lysimachus,"  said  Triplet, 
with  a  suspicious  calmness. 

"  How  can  a  boy  be  hungry  three  hours  after  break- 
fast ?  " 

"  But,  father,  there  was  no  breakfast  for  breakfast." 

''  Now  I  ask  you,  Mrs.  Triplet,"  appealed  the  author, 
"  how  am  I  to  write  comic  scenes  if  you  let  Lysimachus 
and  Roxalana  here,  put  the  heavy  business  in  every  five 
minutes  ?  " 

"  Forgive  them ;  the  poor  things  are  hungry." 


94  VK(,    WOFIMNGTON. 

••Th»'n  let  thorn  !)»•  himj^ry  in  another  room,"  said  th«' 
irritatod  scribe.  "They  shan't  cling  round  my  pen,  an<l 
paralyze  it  just  when  it  is  going  to  make  all  our  fortunes: 
hut  y(»u  women,"  suapp«'d  Triplet  the  just,  "have  no 
consideration  for  p««ople's  feelings.  Send  them  all  t*. 
bed,  every  man  jack  of  them  I" 

Finding  the  conversation  diking  this  turn,  the  brats 
"••iseil  an  unanimo\is  hnwl. 

Triplet  darted  a  fierce  glance  at  thorn.  "  Hungry, 
hungry  !  "  cried  he  ;  ♦•  is  that  a  i)roper  expression  to  use 
Ix^fore  a  father  who  is  sitting  df»wn  here  all  gayety 
(scratching  wildly  with  his  pen)  and  hilarity  (^><  inich), 
to  write  acorn  — com  —  "  he  choked  a  moment ;  then  in  a 
very  different  voice,  all  sadness  and  tenderness,  lie  s^aid, 
"  Where's  the  youngest  —  where's  Lucy  ?  As  if  I  didn't 
know  you  are  hungry." 

Lucy  came  to  him  directly.  He  took  her  on  his  kne*-, 
pressed  her  gently  to  his  side,  and  wrote  silently.  The 
others  were  still. 

*•  Father,"  said  Lucy,  aged  five,  the  germ  of  a  woman, 
'*  I  am  not  tho  very  hungry.'' 

"And  I  am  not  hungry  at  all,"  said  bluff  Lysiniachus, 
taking  his  sister's  cue  ;  then  going  upon  his  own  tact  h'- 
added.  ••  I  had  a  great  piece  of  bread  and  butter  yester- 
day : " 

"Wife,  they  will  drive  me  mad  I  "  and  he  dashed  at 
the  pa|H*r. 

The  second  boy  explained  to  his  mother,  sotfo  vorc : 
"  Mother,  he  made  us  hungry  out  of  his  book." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  book,"  said  Lucy.  "  Is  it  a  cookery 
book  ?  " 

Triplet  roared  ;  "  Do  you  hear  that  ?  "  inquired  he,  all 
trace  of  ill-humor  gone.  "  Wife,''  he  resumed,  after  a 
gallant  scribble,  "  I  took  that  sermon  I  wrote." 

"And  beautiful   it  was,  James.      I'm   sure   it  quite 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  95 

cheered  me  up  with  thinking,  that  we  shall  all  be  dead 
before  so  very  long."' 

"Well,  the  reverend  gentleman  would  not  have  it. 
He  said  it  was  too  hard  upon  sin.  '  You  run  at  the 
devil  like  a  mad  bull,'  said  he.  '  Sell  it  in  Lambeth,  sir  ; 
here  calmness  and  decency  are  before  everything,'  says 
he.  '  ]My  congregation  expect  to  go  to  heaven  down 
hill.  Perhaps  the  chaplain  of  Newgate  might  give  you 
a  crown  for  it,'  said  he,"  and  Triplet  dashed  vicious- 
ly at  the  paper.  "Ah!"  sighed  he,  "if  my  friend 
Mrs.  Woffington  would  but  drop  these  stupid  comedies 
and  take  to  tragedy,  this  house  would  soon  be  all 
smiles." 

"  0  James  !  "  replied  Mrs.  Triplet,  almost  peevishly, 
"  how  can  you  expect  anything  but  fine  words  from  that 
woman  ?  You  won't  believe  what  all  the  world  says. 
You  will  trust  to  3-our  own  good  heart." 

"I  haven't  a  good  heart,"'  said  the  poor  honest  fellow. 
"I  spoke  like  a  brute  to  you  just  now." 

"Never  mind,  James,"  said  the  woman;  "I  wonder 
how  you  put  up  with  me  at  all  —  a  sick,  useless  creature. 
I  often  wish  to  die,  for  your  sake.  I  know  you  would 
do  better.     I  am  such  a  weight  round  your  neck." 

The  man  made  no  answer,  but  he  put  Lucy  gently 
down,  and  went  to  the  woman,  and  took  her  forehead  to 
his  bosom,  and  held  it  there  j  and  after  awhile,  returned 
with  silent  energy  to  his  comedy. 

"Play  us  a  tune  on  the  fiddle,  father." 

"  Ay,  do,  husband.  That  helps  you  often  in  your 
writing." 

Lysimachus  brought  him  the  fiddle,  and  Triplet 
essayed  a  merrj-  tune  ;  but  it  came  out  so  doleful,  that 
he  shook  his  head,  and  laid  the  instrument  down. 
Music  must  be  in  the  heart,  or  it  will  come  out  of  the 
fingers  —  notes,  not  music. 


96  PEC.    WOFFINLiTON. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "  let  us  be  serious  and  finish  this 
comedy  slaj)  off.  Perhaps  it  hitches  because  I  forgot  to 
invoke  the  comic  muse.  She  must  be  a  Vjlack-hearted 
jade,  if  she  doesn't  come  with  merry  notions  to  a  poor 
devil,  starving  in  the  midst  of  his  hungry  little  ones." 

'•  We  are  past  help  from  heathen  goddesses,''  said  the 
woman.  "  We  must  i)ray  to  Heaven  to  look  down  upon 
us  and  our  children." 

The  man  looked  up  with  a  very  bad  expression  on  his 
countenance. 

"  You  forget,"  said  he,  siillenly,  '"'  our  street  is  very 
narrow,  and  the  opposite  houses  are  very  high." 

"  James  I " 

"  How  can  Heaven  be  expected  to  see  what  honest  folk 
endure  in  so  dark  a  hole  as  this  ?  "  cried  the  man  fiercely. 

"James,"  said  the  woman,  with  fear  and  sorrow, 
"  what  words  are  these  '.' " 

The  man  rose,  and  flung  his  pen  upon  the  floor. 

"Have  we  given  honesty  a  fair  trial  —  yes  or  no?" 

"No!"  said  the  woman,  without  a  mouient's  hesita- 
tion ;  "  not  till  we  die  as  we  have  lived.  Heaven  is 
higher  than  the  sky  ;  children,"  said  she,  lest  perchance 
her  husband's  words  should  have  harmed  their  young 
souls  — "  the  sky  is  above  the  earth,  and  heaven  is 
higher  than  the  sky  ;  and  Heaven  is  just." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  so,"  said  the  man,  a  little  cowed  by 
her.  "  Everybody  says  so.  I  think  so,  at  bottom, 
myself  ;  but  1  can't  see  it.  I  want  to  see  it,  but  I  can't !  " 
cried  he  fiercely.  "  Have  my  children  offended  Heaven  ? 
They  will  starve  —  they  will  die  !  If  I  was  Heaven, 
I'd  be  just,  and  send  an  angel  to  take  these  children's 
part.  They  cried  to  me  for  bread  —  I  had  no  bread ;  so 
I  gave  them  hard  words.  The  moment  I  had  done  that, 
1  knew  it  was  all  over.  God  knows,  it  took  a  long  while 
to  break  my  heart;  but  it  is  broken  at  last;  quite,  quite 
broken  !  broken  !  broken  1 " 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  97 

And  the  poor  thing  laid  his  head  upon  the  table,  and 
sobbed,  beyond  all  power  of  restraint.  The  children 
cried  round  him,  scarce  knowing  why ;  and  Mrs.  Triplet 
could  only  say,  "  My  poor  husband ! "  and  prayed  and 
wept  upon  the  couch  where  she  lay. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  a  lady,  who  had  knocked 
gently  and  unheard,  opened  the  door,  and  with  a  light 
step,  entered  the  apartment ;  but  no  sooner  had  she 
caught  sight  of  Triplet's  anguish,  than  saying  hastily, 
"  Stay,  I  forgot  something,''  she  made  as  hasty  an  exit. 

This  gave  Triplet  a  moment  to  recover  himself ;  and 
Mrs.  Woffington,  whose  lynx-eye  had  comprehended  all 
at  a  glance,  and  who  had  determined  at  once  what  line 
to  take,  came  flying  in  again  saying  :  — 

"Wasn't  somebody  inquiring  for  an  angel?  Here  I 
am.  See,  Mr.  Triplet,"  and  she  showed  him  a  note, 
which  said,  "  Madam,  you  are  an  angel."  — "  From  a 
perfect  stranger,"  explained  she  ;  "  so  it  must  be  true." 

"  Mrs.  Woffington,"  said  Mr.  Triplet  to  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Woffington  planted  herself  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  and  with  a  comical  glance,  setting  her  arms  akim- 
bo, uttered  a  shrill  whistle. 

"Now  you  will  see  another  angel  —  there  are  two  sorts 
of  them." 

Pompey  came  in  with  a  basket :  she  took  it  from  him. 

"  Lucifer,  avaunt !  "  cried  she,  in  a  terrible  tone,  that 
drove  him  to  the  wall ;  "  and  wait  outside  the  door," 
added  she,  conversationally. 

"  I  heard  you  were  ill,  ma'am,  and  I  have  brought  you 
some  physic  —  black  draughts  from  Burgundy  ; "  and 
she  smiled.  And,  recovered  from  their  first  surprise, 
young  and  old  began  to  thaw  beneath  that  witching,  irre- 
sistible smile.  "  Mrs.  Triplet,  I  have  come  to  give  your 
husband  a  sitting ;  will  you  allow  me  to  eat  my  little 
luncheon  with  you  ?  I  am  so  hungry."  Then  she 
7 


98  PEG    WOIKINGTUN. 

clapped  her  hands,  and  in  ran  Pouipcy.  She  sent  him 
for  a  pie  she  j)rotVssed  to  have  fallen  in  love  with  at  the 
corner  of  the  street. 

**  Mother,"' said  Altilii:uli's,  ••  will  the  lady  give  me  a 
bit  of  her  pie  ?  " 

"  Hush  I  you  ruile  boy  I  "  cried  the  mother. 

"  She  is  not  much  of  a  lady  if  she  does  not,"  cried  Mrs. 
Woffington.  *'  Now,  cliildren,  first  let  us  look  at  —  ahem 
—  a  comedy.  Nineteen  drumutis  personw !  What  do 
you  say,  children,  shall  we  cut  out  seven,  or  nine  *.'  that 
is  the  cpiestion.  You  can't  briii;.,'  your  armies  into  our 
drawing-rooms,  Mr.  Dagger-and-bowl.  Are  you  the  Marl- 
borough of  comedy  ?  Can  you  marshal  battalions  on  a 
Turkey  carpet,  and  make  gentlefolks  witty  in  platoons? 
"What  is  this  in  the  Hrst  act  ?  A  duel,  and  both  wounded  ! 
You  butcher ! " 

"They  are  not  to  die,  ma'am!"  cried  Triplet,  depre- 
eatingly  ;  "upon  my  honor,"  said  he,  solemnly,  spreading 
his  hands  on  his  bosom. 

"Do  you  think  I'll  trust  their  lives  with  you  '.'  No  I 
Give  me  a  pen :  this  is  the  way  tve  run  jjcople  through 
the  body."  (Then  she  wrote  "  business :  "  Araminta 
looks  out  of  the  garret  window.  Combatants  drop  tlu'ir 
swords,  put  their  hands  to  their  hearts,  and  stagger  off 
0.  P.  and  P.  S.)  "  Now,  children,  who  helps  me  to  lay 
the  cloth  ?  " 

"  I  !  " 

"  And  I  !  "     (The  children  run  to  the  cupboard.) 

Mrs.  Triplet  (half  rising).  Madam,  I  —  can't  think 
of  allowing  you. 

Mrs.  Woffington  replied,  "  Sit  down,  madam,  or  I  must 
use  brute  force.  If  you  are  ill,  be  ill  —  till  I  make 
you  well.  Twelve  plates,  quick  !  Twenty-four  knives, 
quicker  !  Forty-eight  forks,  quickest  I  "  She  met  the 
cliildren  with  the  cloth  and  laid  it ;  then  she  met  them 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  99 

again  and  laid  knives  and  forks,  all  at  full  gallop,  which 
mightily  excited  the  bairns.  Pompey  came  in  with  the 
pie ;  Mrs.  Woffington  took  it  and  set  it  before  Triplet. 

Mrs.  Woffington.    Your  coat,  Mr.  Triplet,  if  you  please. 

Mr.  Triplet.     My  coat,  madam  ! 

Mrs.  Woffington.  Yes,  off  with  it,  —  there's  a  hole  in 
it,  —  and  carve.  (Then  she  whipped  to  the  other  end  of 
the  table  and  stitched  like  wild-fire.)  Be  pleased  to 
cast  your  eyes  on  that,  Mrs.  Triplet.  Pass  it  to  the 
lady,  young  gentleman.  Fire  away,  Mr.  Triplet,  never 
mind  us  women.  Woffington's  housewife,  ma'am,  fear- 
ful to  the  eye,  only  it  holds  everything  in  the  world,  and 
there  is  a  small  space  for  everything  else  —  to  be  re- 
turned by  the  bearer.  Thank  you,  sir.  (Stitches  away 
like  lightning  at  the  coat.)  Eat  away,  children  !  now  is 
your  time.  When  once  I  begin,  the  pie  will  soon  end  ; 
I  do  everything  so  quick. 

Roxalana.     The  lady  sews  quicker  than  you,  mother. 

Woffington.  Bless  the  child,  don't  come  so  near  my 
sword-arm ;  the  needle  will  go  into  your  eye,  and  out  at 
the  back  of  your  head. 

This  nonsense  made  the  children  giggle. 

"  The  needle  will  be  lost  —  the  child  no  more  —  enter 
undertaker  —  house  turned  topsy-turvy  —  father  shows 
Woffington  to  the  door  —  off  she  goes  with  a  face  as 
long  and  dismal  as  some  peopia's  comedies  —  no  names 
—  crying  fine  cha-ney  oran-ges." 

The  children,  all  but  Lucy,  screeched  with  laughter. 

Lucy  said  gravely, — 

"  Mother,  the  lady  is  very  funny." 

"  You  will  be  as  funny,  when  you  are  as  well  paid 
for  it." 

This  just  hit  poor  Trip's  notion  of  humor;  and  he 
began  to  choke,  with  his  mouth  full  of  pie. 

"  James,  take  care,"  said  Mrs.  Triplet,  sad  and  solemn. 

James  looked  up.  Vol.  9 — 4 


100  PPX;    WOFFINGTON. 

''  My  wife  is  a  gfMxl  woman,  nuulain,"  said  hv. ;  "  but 
deficient  in  an  important  particular." 

"  O  James  !  " 

**  Yes,  my  dear.  I  regret  to  saj'  you  have  no  sense  of 
humor;  nummore  than  a  cat,  Jane." 

"  Wliat !  because  the  poor  thing  can't  laugh  at  your 
comedy  ?  " 

**  No,  ma'am  ;  but  she  laughs  at  nothing." 

'•'Pry  her  with  one  of  your  tragedies,  my  lad." 

"  1  am  sure,  James,"  said  the  j)oor,  good,  lackadaisical 
woman,  ''if  I  don't  laugh,  it  is  not  for  want  of  the  will. 
I  used  to  be  a  very  heaity  laugher,"  whined  she;  *•  but  I 
haven't  laughed  this  two  years." 

"  Uh,  indeed  ! ''  said  the  Woffington.  ••  Then  the  next 
two  years  3'ou  shall  do  nothing  els»'.'' 

"Ah,  madam  !"  said  Triplet.  "That  passes  the  art, 
even  of  the  great  comedian." 

'•  Does  it  ?  "  said  the  actress  coolly. 

Luri/.  She  is  not  a  comedy  lady.  You  don't  ever  cry, 
pretty  la«ly  ? 

Woffington  (ironically).     Oh  !  of  course  not. 

Lunj  (confidentially).  Comedy  is  crying.  Father 
cried  all  the  time  he  was  writing  his  one. 

Triplet  turned  red  as  fire. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  he ;  ''  I  was  bursting  with 
merriment.  Wife,  our  children  talk  too  much ;  they 
put  their  noses  into  everything,  and  criticise  their  own 
father." 

"  Unnatural  offspring !  "  laughed  the  visitor. 

''And  when  they  take  up  a  notion,  Socrates  couldn't 
convince  them  to  the  contrary.  For  instance,  madam, 
all  this  morning  they  thought  fit  to  assume  that  they 
were  starving." 

"So  we  were,"  said  Lysimachus,  ''until  the  angel 
came,  and  the  devil  went  for  the  pie." 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  101 

"  There,  there,  there  I  Xow,  you  mark  my  words  ;  we 
shall  never  get  that  idea  out  of  their  heads  "  — 

"  Until,''  said  Mrs.  Woffington,  lumping  a  huge  cut  of 
pie  into  Koxalana's  plate,  "  we  put  a  very  different  idea 
into  their  stomachs."'  This  and  the  look  she  cast  on 
Mrs.  Triplet,  fairly  caught  that  good,  though  sombre 
personage.  She  giggled :  put  her  hand  to  her  face,  and 
said,  '•  I'm  sure  I  ask  your  pardon,  ma'am." 

It  was  no  use  ;  the  comedian  had  determined  they 
should  all  laugh,  and  they  were  made  to  laugh.  Then 
she  rose,  and  showed  them  how  to  drink  healths  a  la 
Frangaise ;  and  keen  were  her  little  admirers,  to  touch 
her  glass  with  theirs.  And  the  pure  wine  she  had 
brought  did  Mrs.  Triplet  much  good,  too  ;  though  not  so 
much  as  the  music  and  sunshine  of  her  face  and  voice. 
Then,  when  their  stomachs  were  full  of  good  food,  and 
the  soul  of  the  grape  tingled  in  their  veins,  and  their 
souls  glowed  under  her  great  magnetic  power,  she  sud- 
denlj-  seized  the  fiddle,  and  showed  them  another  of  her 
enchantments.  She  put  it  on  her  knee,  and  played  a 
tune  that  would  have  made  gout,  colic,  and  phthisic 
dance  upon  their  last  legs.  She  played  to  the  eye  as 
well  as  to  the  ear,  with  such  a  smart  gesture  of  the  bow, 
and  such  a  radiance  of  face  as  she  looked  at  them,  that 
whether  the  music  came  out  of  her  wooden  shell,  or  her 
horsehair  wand,  or  her  bright  self,  seemed  doubtful. 
They  pranced  on  their  chairs ;  they  could  not  keep  still. 
She  jumped  up,  so  did  they.  She  gave  a  wild  Irish 
horroo.     She  put  the  fiddle  in  Triplet's  hand. 

"  The  wind  that  shakes  the  barley,  ye  divil ! "  cried 
she. 

Triplet  went  ho7's  de  lui;  he  played  like  Paganini  or 
an  intoxicated  demon.  Woffington  covered  the  buckle 
in  gallant  style ;  she  danced,  the  children  danced.  Trip- 
let fiddled  and  danced,  and  flung  his  limbs  in  wild  dislo- 


102  PKG    NVOFKINGTON. 

cation;  the  wine-glassrs  danpod  ;  and  last.  Mrs.  Triplet 
was  observed  to  be  bobbing  about  on  her  sofa,  in  a 
monstrous  absurd  way,  droning  out  the  tune,  and  play- 
ing her  hands  with  mild  enjoyment,  all  to  herself. 
Woffington  pointed  out  this  pantomimic  soliloquy  to  the 
two  l)oys.  with  a  glanee  full  of  fiery  meaning.  This  was 
enough  :  with  a  fiendish  yell,  they  fell  upon  her,  and 
tore  her,  shrieking,  off  the  sofa.  And  lo !  wht'U  she  was 
once  launched,  she  danced  up  to  her  husband,  and  set  to 
him  with  a  meek  deliberation,  that  was  as  funny  as  any 
part  of  the  scene.  So  then  the  mover  of  all  this  slipped 
on  one  side,  and  let  the  stone  of  merriment  roll  —  and 
roll  it  did.  There  was  no  swimming,  sprawling,  or 
irrelevant  frisking;  their  feet  struck  the  ground  for 
every  note  of  the  fiddle,  pat  as  its  echo,  their  faces 
shone,  their  hearts  leaped,  aiul  their  poor  frozt-n  natures 
came  out  and  warmed  themselves  at  the  glowing  melody; 
a  great  sunbeam  had  come  into  their  abode,  and  these 
human  nuites  danced  in  it.  The  elder  ones  recovered 
their  gravity  first.  They  sat  down  breathless,  and  put 
their  hands  to  their  hearts  ;  they  looked  at  one  another, 
and  then  at  the  goddess  who  had  revived  them.  Their 
first  feeling  was  wonder;  were  they  the  same,  who,  ten 
minutes  ago,  were  weeping  together  ?  Yes !  ten  min- 
utes ago  they  were  rayless,  joyless,  hopeless.  Now,  the 
sun  was  in  their  hearts,  and  sorrow  and  sighing  were 
fled,  as  fogs  disperse  before  the  god  of  day.  It  was 
magical ;  could  a  mortal  play  upon  the  soul  of  man, 
woman,  and  child  like  this  ?  Happy  Woffington !  and 
suppose  this  was  more  than  half  acting,  but  such  acting 
as  Triplet  never  dreamed  of;  and  to  tell  the  honest 
simple  truth,  I,  myself,  should  not  have  suspected  it: 
but  children  are  sharper  than  one  would  think,  and 
Alcibiades  Triplet  told,  in  after  years,  that  when  they 
were  all  dancing  except  the  lady,  he  caught  sight  of  her 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  103 

face,  and  it  was  quite,  quite  grave,  and  even  sad  :  but  as 
often  as  she  saw  him  look  at  her,  she  smiled  at  him  so 
gayly,  he  couldn't  believe  it  was  the  same  face. 

If  it  was  art,  glory  be  to  such  art  so  worthily  applied  ! 
and  honor  to  such  creatures  as  this,  that  come  like  sun- 
shine into  poor  men's  houses,  and  tune  drooping  hearts 
to  daylight  and  hope  ! 

The  wonder  of  these  worthy  people  soon  changed  to 
gratitude.  Mrs.  Woffington  stopped  their  mouths  at 
once. 

"No,  no!"  cried  she;  "if  you  really  love  me,  no 
scenes ;  I  hate  them.  Tell  these  brats  to  kiss  me,  and 
let  me  go.  I  must  sit  for  my  picture  after  dinner ;  it  is 
a  long  way  to  Bloomsbury  Square." 

The  children  needed  no  bidding ;  they  clustered  round 
her,  and  poured  out  their  innocent  hearts  as  children 
only  do. 

"  I  shall  pray  for  you  after  father  and  mother,"  said 
one. 

"I  shall  pray  for  you  after  daily  bread,"  said  Lucy, 
"  because  we  were  tho  hungry  till  you  came !  " 

"  My  poor  children  !  "  cried  Woffington,  and  hard  to 
grown-up  actors,  as  she  called  us,  but  sensitive  to  chil- 
dren, she  fairly  melted  as  she  embraced  .them.  It  was 
at  this  precise  juncture  that  the  door  was  uncere- 
moniously opened,  and  the  two  gentlemen  burst  upon 
the  scene  ! 

My  reader  now  guesses  whom  Sir  Charles  Pomander 
surprised  more  than  he  did  Mrs.  \Yoffington.  He  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  comprehend  what  she  was  doing, 
and  what  was  her  ulterior  object.  The  nil  admirari  of 
the  fine  gentleman  deserted  him,  and  he  gazed  open- 
mouthed,  like  the  veriest  chaw-bacon. 

Tli£  actress,  unable  to  extricate  herself  in  a  moment 
from  the  children,  stood  there  like  Charity,  in  New  Col- 


104  PF.r.    WOFFINGTON. 

lege  Chapel,  whilst  the  mother  kissed  her  hand,  and  the 
father  quii'tly  droppfil  t«';irs,  like  some  leaden  water-god 
in  tilt'  middU*  of  a  fountain. 

Vane  turned  hot  and  cold  hy  turns,  with  joy  and 
shame.  Pomanders  genius  came  to  the  aid  of  their  em- 
barrassment. 

"  Kollow  my  lead,"  whisperrd  he.  "  What !  Mrs. 
Wothngton  here  ! "  eried  he ;  then  he  advanced  l)usiness- 
like  to  Triplet.  "We  are  aware,  sir,  of  your  various 
talents,  and  are  eome  to  make  a  demand  on  them.  I, 
sir,  am  the  unfortunate  possessor  of  frescos  ;  time  has  im- 
pairi'd  tlieir  indcdicacy,  no  man  can  restore  it  as  you  can." 

"  Augh  !  sir  !  sir  I  "  said  the  gratitied  goose. 

"  My  Cui)id's  hows  are  walking-sticks,  and  my  Venus's 
noses  are  snubl)ed.  You  must  set  all  that  straight,  on 
your  own  terms,  Mr.  Triplet." 

"In  a  single  morning  all  shall  bloom  again,  sir! 
Whom  would  you  wish  them  to  resemble  in  feature  ?  I 
have  lately  been  ])raisfd  for  my  skill  in  portraiture." 
(Glancing  at  Mrs.  Wottington.) 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Pomander,  carelessly,  "  you  need  not  go 
far  for  Venuses  and  Cui)ids,  I  suj)po3e  ?  " 

"I  see,  sir;  my  wife  and  children.  Thank  you,  sir; 
thank  you." 

Pomander  stared ;  Mrs.  Woffington  laughed. 

Now  it  was  Vane's  tiirn. 

"  Let  me  have  a  copy  of  verses  from  your  pen.  I  shall 
have  five  poimds  at  your  disposal  for  them." 

"  The   world   has   found   me  out ! "  thought   Triplet, 
blinded  by  his  vanity.     "The  subject,  sir  ?" 
/"  No  matter,"  said  Vane,  "  no  matter." 

"  Oh !  of  course  it  does  not  matter  to  me,"  said 
Triplet,  with  some  hauteur,  and  assuming  poetic  omnip- 
otence. "'  Only,  when  one  knows  the  subject,  one  can 
sometimes  make  the  verses  apply  better." 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  105 

"Write,  then,  since  you  are  so  confident,  uppn  Mrs. 
Woffington." 

"Ah!  that  is  a  subject  I  They  shall  be  ready  in  an 
hour ! "  cried  Trip,  in  whose  imagination  Parnassus  was 
a  raised  counter.  He  had  in  a  tea-cup  some  lines  on 
Venus  and  Mars,  which  he  could  not  but  feel  would  fit 
Thalia  and  Croesus,  or  Genius  and  Envy,  equally  well. 
"In  one  hour,  sir,''  said  Triplet,  "the  article  shall  be 
executed,  and  delivered  at  your  house." 

Mrs.  Woffington  called  Vane  to  her,  with  an  engaging 
smile.  A  month  ago,  he  would  have  hoped  she  would 
not  have  penetrated  him  and  Sir  Charles ;  but  he  knew 
her  better  now.     He  came  ti'embling. 

"  Look  me  in  the  face,  Mr.  Vane,"  said  she  gently,  but 
firmly. 

"  I  cannot !  "  said  he.  "  How  can  I  ever  look  you  in 
the  face  again  ?  " 

"  Ah !  you  disarm  me  !  But  I  must  strike  you,  or  this 
will  never  end.  Did  I  not  promise  that  when  you  had 
earned  my  esteem,  I  would  tell  you  —  what  no  mortal 
knows  —  Ernest,  my  whole  story  ?  I  delay  the  confes- 
sion ;  it  will  cost  me  so  many  blushes  —  so  many  tears  ! 
And  yet  I  hope,  if  you  knew  all,  you  would  pity  and 
forgive  me.    Meantime,  did  I  ever  tell  you  a  falsehood?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  " 

"Why  doubt  me  then,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  hold  all 
your  sex  cheap,  but  you  ?  Why  suspect  me  of  Heaven 
knows  what,  at  the  dictation  of  a  heartless,  brainless  fop 
—  on  the  word  of  a  known  liar,  like  the  world  ?  " 

Black  lightning  flashed  from  her  glorious  eyes,  as  she 
administered  this  ro3-al  rebuke.  Vane  felt  what  a  poor 
creature  he  was,  and  his  face  showed  such  burning  shame 
and  contrition,  that  he  obtained  his  pardon  without 
speaking. 

"  There,"  said  she,  kindly,  "  do  not  let  us  torment  ooe 


106  pEf;   \V()FriN(;TON. 

another.  I  forgive  you.  Let  me  make  you  happy, 
Ernest.  Is  that  a  great  favor  to  ask  ?  I  can  make  you 
hapj)ier  than  your  l)rightest  dream  of  hapj)iness,  if  you 
will  let  yourself  he  happy." 

They  rejoined  the  others;  hut  Vane  turned  his  back 
on  Pomander,  and  would  not  look  at  him. 

"Sir  Charles,"  said  Mrs.  Woftington,  gayly;  for  she 
scorned  to  admit  the  fine  gentleman  to  the  rank  of  a 
])ermanent  enemy,  "you  will  be  of  our  party,  I  trust,  at 
dinner?" 

*'  Why,  no,  madam  ;  I  fear  I  cannot  give  myself  that 
pleasure  to-day."  Sir  Charles  did  not  choose  to  swell 
the  triumph.  "Mr.  Vane,  good  day  I  "  said  he,  rather 
dryly.  *'  Mr.  Triplet  —  madam  — your  most  obedient ! " 
and,  self-possessed  at  top,  but  at  bottom  crestfallen,  he 
l)Owed  himself  away. 

Sir  Charles,  however,  on  descending  the  stair  and 
gaining  the  street,  caught  sight  of  a  horseman,  riding 
uncertainly  about,  and  making  his  horse  curvet  to  at- 
tract attention. 

He  soon  recognized  one  of  his  own  horses,  and  upon  it 
the  servant  he  had  left  behind  to  dog  that  poor  innocent 
country  lady.  The  servant  sprang  off  his  horse  and 
touched  his  hat.  He  informed  his  master  that  he  had 
kept  with  the  carriage  until  ten  o'clock  this  morning, 
when  he  had  ridden  away  from  it  at  Barnet,  having  duly 
pumped  the  servants  as  opportunity  offered. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  cried  Sir  Charles. 

'•  Wife  of  a  Cheshire  squire.  Sir  Charles,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  His  name  ?     Whither  goes  she  in  town  ?  " 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Vane,  Sir  Charles.  She  is  going 
to  her  husband." 

"  Curious  I  "  cried  Sir  Charles.  "  I  wish  she  had  no 
husband.  No !  I  wish  she  came  from  Shropshire,"  and 
he  chuckled  at  the  notion. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  107 

"  If  you  please,  Sir  Charles,"  said  the  man,  "  is  not 
Willoughby  in  Cheshire  ?  " 

"  No,"  cried  his  master;  "it  is  in  Shropshire.  What! 
eh  !  Five  guineas  for  you  if  that  lady  comes  from  Wil- 
loughby in  Shropshire." 

"  That  is  where  she  comes  from  then,  Sir  Charles,  and 
she  is  going  to  Bloomsbury  Square." 

"  How  long  have  they  been  married  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  twelve  months,  Sir  Charles." 

Pomander  gave  the  man  ten  guineas  instead  of  five  on 
the  spot. 

Reader,  it  was  too  true  !  Mr.  Vane  —  the  good,  the 
decent,  the  church-goer — Mr.  Vane,  whom  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton  had  selected  to  improve  her  morals  —  Mr.  Vane  was 
a  married  man ! 


108  VFT,    WorFINGTON. 


CllAl'TKi:    IX. 

As  soon  as  Pomand»^r  had  drawn  his  breath  and  real- 
ized this  discovery  he  darted  up-stairs.  and  with  all  the 
demure  calmness  he  could  assume,  told  Mr.  Vane,  whom 
he  met  desceiidint,'.  tliat  he  was  liappy  to  find  his  enijage- 
ments  permitted  liim  to  join  the  party  in  Bloomsbury 
Square.     He  then  flung  himself  upon  his  servant's  horse. 

Like  lago,  he  saw  the  indistinct  outline  of  a  glorious 
and  a  most  malicious  plot;  it  lay  crude  in  his  liead  and 
heart  at  present;  thus  much  he  saw  clearly,  that  if  he 
could  time  Mrs.  Vane's  arrival  so  that  she  should  pounce 
upon  the  WolKngton  at  her  husband's  table,  he  might  be 
present  at  and  enjoy  the  public  discomfiture  of  a  man 
and  woman  who  had  wounded  his  vanity,  liidding  his 
servant  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Bloomsbury  Square, 
Sir  Charles  gallojiod  in  that  direction  liimself,  intending 
first  to  inquire  whether  ^Irs.  Vane  was  arrived,  and  if 
not,  to  ride  towards  Islington  and  meet  her.  His  plan 
was  frustrated  by  an  accident ;  galloping  round  a  corner, 
his  horse  did  not  change  his  leg  cleverl}',  and,  the  pave- 
ment being  also  loose,  slipped  and  fell  on  his  side,  throw- 
ing his  rider  upon  the  trotfoir.  The  horse  got  up  and 
trembled  violently,  but  was  unhurt.  The  rider  lay 
motionless,  except  that  his  legs  quivered  on  the  pave- 
ment. They  took  him  up  and  conveyed  him  into  a 
druggist's  shop,  the  master  of  which  practised  chirurgery. 
He  had  to  be  sent  for;  and  before  he  could  be  found, 
Sir  Charles  recovered  bis  reason  —  so  much  so,  that  when 
the  chirurgeon  approached  with  his  fleam  to  bleed  him, 
according  to  the  practice  of  the  day,  the  patient  drew  his 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  109 

sword,  and  assured  the  other  he  would  let  out  every  drop 
of  blood  in  his  body  if  he  touched  him. 

He  of  the  shorter  but  more  lethal  weapon  hastily 
retreated.  Sir  Charles  flung  a  guinea  on  the  counter, 
and  mounting  his  horse  rode  him  off  rather  faster  than 
before  this  accident. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  ! 

"I  believe  that  gentleman  to  be  the  devil,"  said  a 
thoughtful  bystander.  The  crowd  (it  was  a  century  ago) 
assented  nem.  con. 

Sir  Charles  arrived  in  Bloomsbury  Square,  found  that 
the  whole  party  was  assembled.  He  therefore  ordered 
his  servant  to  parade  before  the  door,  and  if  he  saw 
Mrs.  Vane's  carriage  enter  the  square,  to  let  him  know, 
if  possible,  before  she  could  reach  the  house.  On  enter- 
ing he  learned  that  Mr.  Vane  and  his  guests  were  in  the 
garden  (a  very  fine  one),  and  joined  them  there. 

Mrs.  Vane  demands  another  chapter,  in  which  I  will 
tell  the  reader  who  she  was,  and  what  excuse  her  hus- 
band had  for  his  liaison  with  Margaret  Woffiugton. 


no  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mabel  Chester  was  the  beauty  and  toast  of  South 
Shropshire.  Slie  had  refused  the  hand  of  half  the  coun- 
try squires  in  a  circle  of  some  dozen  miles,  till  at  last 
Mr.  Vane  became  her  suitor.  Besides  a  handsome  face 
and  person,  Mr.  Vane  hatl  accomplishments  his  rivals 
did  not  possess.  He  read  poetry  to  her  on  mossy  banks, 
an  hour  before  sunsi-t,  and  awakened  sensibilities,  which 
her  other  suitors  shocked,  and  they  them. 

The  lovely  Mabel  had  a  taste  for  beautiful  things,  with- 
out any  excess  of  that  severe  quality  called  judgment. 

I  will  explain.  If  you  or  I,  reader,  had  read  to  her 
in  the  afternoon,  amidst  the  smell  of  roses  and  eglantine, 
the  chirp  of  the  mavis,  the  hum  of  bees,  the  twinkling 
of  butterflies,  and  the  tinkle  of  distant  sheep,  something 
that  combined  all  these  sights,  and  sounds,  and  smells 
—  say  Milton's  musical  picture  of  Eden,  T.  L.,  lib.  3,  and 
after  that  "  Triplet  on  Kew,'*  she  would  have  instantly 
pronounced  in  favor  of  ''  Eden  ;  "  but  if  we  had  read  her 
"Milton,"  and  Mr.  Vane  had  read  her  "Triplet,"  she 
would  have  as  unhesitatingly  preferred  "  Kew "  to 
"  I'aradise," 

She  was  a  true  daughter  of  Eve ;  the  lady  who,  when 
an  angel  was  telling  her  and  her  husband  the  truths  of 
heaven  in  heaven's  own  music,  slipped  away  into  the 
kitchen,  because  she  preferred  hearing  the  story  at  second- 
hand, incumbered  with  digressions,  and  in  mortal  but 
marital  accents. 

When  her  mother,  who  guarded  Mabel  like  a  dragon, 
told  her  Mr.  Vane  was  not  rich  enough,  and  she  really 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  Ill 

must  not  give  him  so  many  opportunities,  Mabel  cried 
and  embraced  the  dragon,  and  said  "  0  mother  !  "  The 
dragon,  finding  her  ferocity  dissolving,  tried  to  shake  her 
off,  but  the  goose  would  cry  and  embrace  the  dragon  till 
it  melted. 

By  and  by  Mr.  Vane's  uncle  died  suddenly  and  left 
him  the  great  Stoken  Church  estate,  and  a  trunk  full  of 
Jacobuses  and  Queen  Anne's  guineas  —  his  own  hoard 
and  his  father's  —  then  the  dragon  spake  comfortably, 
and  said,  — 

"  My  child,  he  is  now  the  richest  man  in  Shropshire. 
He  will  not  think  of  you  now ;  so  steel  your  heart." 

Then  Mabel,  contrary  to  all  expectations,  did  not  cry ; 
but  with  flushing  cheek,  pledged  her  life  upon  Ernest's 
love  and  honor.  And  Ernest,  as  soon  as  the  funeral, 
etc.,  left  him  free,  galloped  to  Mabel,  to  talk  of  our  good 
fortune.  The  dragon  had  done  him  injustice ;  that  was 
not  his  weak  point.  So  they  were  married !  and  they 
were  very,  very  happy.  But  one  month  after,  the  dragon 
died,  and  that  was  their  first  grief;  but  they  bore  it 
together. 

And  Vane  was  not  like  the  other  Shropshire  squires. 
His  idea  of  pleasure  was  something  his  wife  could  share. 
He  still  rode,  walked,  and  sat  with  her,  and  read  to  her, 
and  composed  songs  for  her,  and  about  her,  which  she 
played  and  sang  prettily  enough,  in  her  quiet  lady-like 
way,  and  in  a  voice  of  honey  dropping  from  the  comb. 
Then  she  kept  a  keen  eye  upon  him ;  and  when  she  dis- 
covered what  dishes  he  liked,  she  superintended  those 
herself ;  and  observing  that  he  never  failed  to  eat  of  a 
certain  lemon  pudding  the  dragon  had  originated,  she 
always  made  this  pudding  herself,  and  she  never  told 
her  husband  she  made  it. 

The  first  seven  months  of  their  marriage  was  more 
like  blue  sky  than  brown  earth ;  and  if  any  one  had  told 


112  i'K<;   woi  riNCTON. 

Mubfl  that  Ikt  husband  was  a  mortal,  and  not  an  angel, 
sent  to  her,  that  her  days  and  nights  might  be  unmixed, 
unintermpted  heaven,  slu'  could  hardly  have  realized  the 
infonuation. 

When  a  vexatious  litigant  began  to  contest  the  will 
by  which  Mr.  Vane  was  Lord  of  Stoken  Church,  and  Mr. 
Vane  went  up  to  Tiondon  to  concert  the  proper  means  of 
defeating  this  attack,  Mrs.  Vane  would  gladly  have  com- 
pounded by  giving  the  man  two  or  three  thousand  acres, 
or  the  whole  estate,  if  he  wouldn't  take  less,  not  to  rob 
her  of  her  husband  for  a  month ;  but  she  was  docile,  as 
she  w;us  amorous ;  so  she  cried  (out  of  sight)  a  week,  and 
let  her  darling  go,  with  every  misgiving  a  loving  heart 
could  have ;  but  one  !  and  that  one,  her  own  heart  told 
her.  was  impossible. 

The  month  rolled  away  —  no  symptom  of  a  return.  For 
this,  Mr.  Vane  was  not,  in  fact,  to  blame ;  but,  towards 
the  end  of  the  next  month,  business  became  a  conven- 
ient excuse.  When  three  months  had  passed,  Mrs.  Vane 
became  unhappy.  She  thought  he  too  must  feel  the 
separation.  She  offered  to  come  to  him.  He  answered 
uncandidly.  He  urged  the  length,  the  fatigue  of  the 
journey.  She  was  silenced;  but  some  time  later  she 
began  to  take  a  new  view  of  his  objections.  ''He  is  so 
self-denying,"  said  she.  "Dear  Ernest,  he  longs  for  me; 
but  he  thinks  it  selfish  to  let  me  travel  so  far  alone  to 
see  him." 

Full  of  this  idea,  she  yielded  to  her  love.  She  made 
her  preparations,  and  wrote  to  him  that  if  he  did  not 
forbid  her  peremptorily,  he  must  expect  to  see  her  at  his 
breakfast-table  in  a  very  few  days. 

Mr.  Vane  concluded  this  was  a  jest,  and  did  not 
answer  this  letter  at  all. 

IMrs.  Vane  started.  She  travelled  with  all  speed ;  but 
coming  to  a  halt  at ,  she  wrote  to  her  husband 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  113 

that  she  counted  on  being  with  him  at  four  of  the  clock 
on  Thursday. 

This  letter  preceded  her  arrival  by  a  few  hours.  It 
was  put  into  his  hand  at  the  same  time  with  a  note 
from  Mrs.  Woffington ;  telling  him  she  should  be  at  a 
rehearsal  at  Covent  Garden.  Thinking  his  wife's  letter 
would  keep,  he  threw  it  on  one  side  into  a  sort  of  a  tray ; 
and  after  a  hurried  breakfast,  went  out  of  his  house  to 
the  theatre.  He  returned,  as  we  are  aware,  with  Mrs, 
Woffington ;  and  also,  at  her  request,  with  Mr.  Gib'  ter, 
for  whom  they  called  on  their  way.  He  had  forgotten 
his  wife's  letter,  and  was  entirely  occupied  with  his 
guests. 

Sir  Gharles  Pomander  joined  them,  and  found  Mr. 
Colander,  the  head  domestic  of  the  London  establish- 
ment, cutting  with  a  pair  of  scissors  every  flower  Mrs. 
Woffington  fancied,  that  lady  having  a  passion  for 
flowers. 

Colander,  during  his  temporary  absence  from  the 
interior,  had  appointed  James  Burdock  to  keep  the 
house,  and  receive  the  two  remaining  guests,  should 
they  arrive. 

This  James  Burdock  was  a  faithful  old  country  serv- 
ant, who  had  come  up  with  Mr.  Vane,  but  left  his  heart 
at  Willoughb}^  James  Burdock  had  for  some  time  been 
ruminating,  and  his  conclusion  was,  that  his  mistress, 
Miss  Mabel  (as  by  force  of  habit  he  called  her),  was  not 
treated  as  she  deserved. 

Burdock  had  been  imported  into  Mr.  Vane's  family  by 
Mabel ;  he  had  carried  her  in  his  arms  when  she  was  a 
child ;  he  had  held  her  upon  a  donkey  when  she  was 
a  little  girl ;  and  when  she  became  a  woman,  it  was  he 
who  taught  her  to  stand  close  to  her  horse,  and  give  him 
her  foot,  and  spring  while  he  lifted  her  steadily  but 
strongly  into  her  saddle,  and  when  there,  it  was  he  who 
8 


114  PE(;   W()Kfin(;ton. 

liad  instructed  her  that  a  horse  was  not  a  machine,  that 
gallopinj,'  tir»'S  it  in  tim«',  and  that  gallo|)iii;^'  it  or.  the 
hard  road  lianinu'rs  it  to  pieces.  "  I  taught  the  jjirl," 
thouglit  James  within  himself. 

Tliis  lionest  silver-haired  old  fellow  seemed  so  ridicu- 
lous to  Colander,  the  smooth,  supercilious  Londoner,  that 
he  deigned  sometimes  to  converse  witli  James,  in  order 
to  quiz  him.  This  very  morning  they  had  had  a  conver- 
sation. 

'•poor  Miss  Mabel  I  dear  heart.  A  twelvemonth  mar- 
ried, and  nigh  si.x  nujiiths  of  it  a  widow,  or  next  door." 

"  We  write  to  her,  James,  and  ente/tain  her  replies, 
which  are  at  eonsiilerahle  length." 

"Ay,  but  we  don't  read  'em  I "  said  James,  with  an 
uneasy  glance  at  the  tray. 

*•  Invariably,  at  our  leisure;  meantime  we  make  our- 
selves happy  amongst  the  wits  and  the  sirens." 

''  And  slie  do  make  others  hapjty  among  the  poor  and 
the  ailing." 

"  Which  shows,"  said  Colander,  superciliously,  "  the 
difference  of  tastes." 

Burdock,  whose  eye  had  never  been  off  his  mistress's 
handwriting,  at  last  took  it  up  and  said.  "Master  Colan- 
der, do  if  ye  jdease,  sir,  take  this  into  master's  dressing- 
room,  do  now  ?  " 

Colander  looked  down  on  the  missive  with  dilating 
eye.  "  Not  a  bill,  James  Burdock,"  said  he,  reproach- 
fully. 

"  A  bill  I  bless  ye,  no.     A  letter  from  missus." 

No,  the  dog  would  not  take  it  in  to  his  master :  and 
poor  James,  with  a  sigh,  replaced  it  in  the  tray. 

This  James  Burdock,  then,  was  left  in  charge  of  the 
hall  by  Colander,  and  it  so  happened  that  the  change 
was  hardly  effected,  before  a  hurried  knocking  came  to 
the  street  door. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  115 

"  Ay,  ay  ! "  grumbled  Burdock,  "  I  thought  it  wouhl  not 
be  long.  London  for  knocking  and  ringing  all  day,  and 
ringing  and  knocking  all  night."  He  opened  the  door 
reluctantly  and  suspicioush',  and  in  darted  a  lady,  whose 
features  were  concealed  by  a  hood.  She  glided  across 
the  hall,  as  if  she  was  making  for  some  point,  and  old 
James  shuffled  after  her,  crying,  "Stop,  stop,  young 
woman.     What  is  your  name,  young  woman  ?  " 

"  Why,  James  Burdock,"  cried  the  lady,  removing  her 
hood,  "  have  you  forgotten  your  mistress  ?  " 

"Mistress  I  ^Ti}',  Miss  Mabel,  I  ask  your  pardon, 
madam  —  here,  John,  Margery  !  " 

"  Hush ! "  cried  Mrs.  Vane. 

"  But  where  are  your  trunks,  miss  ?  And  where's  the 
coach,  and  Darby  and  Joan  ?  To  think  of  their  drawing 
you  all  the  way  here  !  I'll  have  'em  into  your  room 
directly,  ma'am.     Miss,  you've  come  just  in  time." 

"  AA-'hat  a  dear,  good,  stupid  old  thing  you  are,  James  ! 
Where  is  Ernest  —  Mr.  Vane?  James,  is  he  well  and 
happy  ?     I  want  to  surprise  him." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  James,  looking  down. 

"  I  left  the  stupid  old  coach  at  Islington,  James.  The 
something  —  pin  was  loose,  or  I  don't  know  what.  Could 
I  wait  two  hours  there  ?  So  I  came  on  by  myself ;  you 
wicked  old  man,  you  let  me  talk,  and  don't  tell  me  how 
he  is." 

"Master  is  main  well,  ma'am,  and  thank  you,"  said 
old  Burdock,  confused  and  uneasy. 

"  But  is  he  happy  ?  Of  course  he  is.  Are  we  not  to 
meet  to-day  after  six  months?  Ah!  but  never  mind, 
they  are  gone  by." 

"  Lord  bless  her  !  "  thought  the  faithful  old  fellow. 
"  If  sitting  down  and  crying  could  help  her,  I  wouldn't 
be  long." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  the  banqueting-room,  and 


116  Vi:c,    WOFFINGTON. 

at  the  {)rep;iration8  tliort;  Mabel  gave  a  start ;  she  then 
colored.  "Oh!  ho  has  invited  his  frii'uds  tt)  make  ac- 
quaintance. I  had  rather  \\v  had  Ixmh  jilonc  all  this  day 
and  to-morrow.  Hut  he  must  not  know  that.  No;  hig 
friends  are  nit/  frii-nds,  and  shall  he,  too,"  thought  the 
country  wife.  She  then  glanerd  with  somt-  misgiving  at 
lier  travelling  attin*.  and  wished  she  had  hnmght  one 
trunk  with  her. 

"James,"  said  she,  "where  is  my  room  '.'  .Vnd  mind, 
I  forbid  you  to  tell  a  soul  I  am  come." 

"Your  room,  Miss  Mabel  ?" 

"  Well,  any  rinnii  wlu-re  there  is  looking-glass  and 
water." 

She  then  went  to  a  door  which  opened  in  fact  on  a 
short  passage  leatling  to  a  room  oetnipied  by  Mr.  Vane 
himself. 

"No,  no!"  cried  James.     "That  is  master's  room." 

"Well,  is  not  master's  room  mistress's  room,  old  raan  ? 
But  stay  ;  is  he  there  '.'  " 

"No,  ma'am;  In-  is  in  tin'  'miiIi  n,  ultli  a  ikiu.i-  of  line 
folks." 

"They  shall  not  see  nie  Lili  i  iiave  maur  niysilt  ;i  little 
more  decent,"  said  the  young  beauty,  who  knew  at  l>ot- 
tom  how  little  comparativ«'ly  the  color  of  her  dress  could 
affect  her  appearanee.  and  she  opened  Mr.  Vane's  door 
and  glided  in. 

Burdock's  first  determination  was,  in  sjiite  of  her  in- 
junction, to  tell  Colander;  but  on  retiection,  he  argued: 
"And  then  what  will  they  do?  They  will  put  their 
heads  together,  and  deceive  us  some  other  way.  No!" 
thought  James,  with  a  touch  of  spite,  "  we  shall  see  how 
they  will  all  look."  He  argued  also,  that,  at  sight  of  his 
beautiful  wife,  his  master  must  come  to  his  sen.ses,  and 
the  Colander  faction  be  defeated:  and.  perlirips,  by  the 
mercy  of  Providence,  Colander  himself  turned  off. 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  117 

Whilst  thus  ruminating,  a  thundering  knock  at  the 
door  almost  knocked  him  off  his  legs.  "  There  ye  go 
again,"  said  he,  and  went  angrily  to  the  door.  This 
time  it  was  Hunsdon,  who  was  in  a  desperate  hurry  to 
see  his  master. 

"  Where  is  Sir  Charles  Pomander,  my  honest  fellow  ?  " 
said  he. 

*'  In  the  garden,  my  Jack-a-dandy  ! "  said  Burdock, 
furiously. 

C'  Honest  fellow,"  among  servants,  implies  some  moral 
inferiority.) 

In  the  garden  went  Hunsdon.  His  master  —  all  whose 
senses  were  playing  sentinel  —  saw  him,  and  left  the 
company  to  meet  him. 

"  She  is  in  the  house,  sir." 

"Good!     Go  — vanish!" 

Sir  Charles  looked  into  the  banquet-room ;  the  haunch 
was  being  placed  on  the  table.  He  returned  with  the 
information.  He  burned  to  bring  husband  and  wife 
together ;  he  counted  each  second  lost  that  postponed 
this  (to  him)  thrilling  joy.  Oh,  how  happy  he  was  ! 
happier  than  the  serpent,  when  he  saw  Eve's  white 
teeth  really  strike  into  the  apple  ! 

"Shall  we  pay  respect  to  this  haunch,  Mr.  Quin?" 
said  Vane,  gayly. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Quin,  gravely. 

Colander  ran  down  a  by-path  with  an  immense  bouquet, 
which  he  arranged  for  Mrs.  Woffington  in  a  vase  at  Mr. 
Vane's  left  hand.  He  then  threw  open  the  windows, 
which  were  on  the  French  plan,  and  shut  within  a  foot 
of  the  lawn. 

The  musicians  in  the  arbor  struck  up,  and  the  com- 
pany, led  by  Mr.  Vane  and  Mrs.  Woffington,  entered  the 
room.  And  a  charming  room  it  was  !  —  light,  lofty,  and 
large  —  adorned  in  the  French  way  with  white  and  gold. 


118  PEC.    WOFFINCTON. 

The  table  was  an  exact  oval,  ami  at  it  everybody  could 
hear  what  any  one  said  ;  an  excellent  arrangement  where 
ideaed  guests  only  art-  admittt'd  —  which  is  another  excel- 
lent arrangement,  though  I  see  people  don't  think  so. 

The  repast  was  luxurious  and  elegant.  There  was  no 
profusion  of  unmeaning  dishes  ;  each  was  a  hnnne-bnurhe 
—  an  undeniable  delicacy.  The  glass  was  beautiful,  the 
j)lates  silver ;  the  flowers  rose  like  walls  from  the  table  ; 
the  plate  massive  and  glorious,  rose-water  in  the  hand- 
glasses ;  music  crept  in  from  the  garden,  deliciously  sub- 
dued into  what  seemed  a  natural  sound.  A  broad  stream 
of  southern  sun  gushed  in  fiery  gold  through  the  open 
window,  and  like  a  red-hot  rainbow,  danced  through  the 
stained  glass  above  it.  Existence  was  a  thing  to  bask 
in  —  in  such  a  place,  and  so  happy  an  hour  ! 

The  guests  were  Quin,  Mrs.  Clive,  Mr.  Gibber,  Sir 
Charles  Pomander,  Mrs.  Wotlington,  and  Messrs.  Soaper 
and  Snarl,  critics  of  the  day.  This  pair,  with  wonderful 
sagacity,  had  arrived  from  the  street  as  the  haunch  came 
from  the  kitclien.  Good  humor  reigned ;  some  cuts 
passed,  but  as  the  parties  professed  wit,  they  gave  and 
took. 

Quin  carved  the  haunch,  and  was  happy  ;  Soaper  and 
Snarl  eating  the  same,  and  drinking  Toquay,  were  mel- 
lowed and  mitigated  into  human  tiesh.  Mr.  Vane  and 
Mrs.  Woflfington  were  happy  ;  he,  because  his  conscience 
was  asleep  ;  and  she,  because  she  felt  nothing  now  could 
shake  her  hold  of  him.  Sir  Charles  was  in  a  sort  of 
mental  chuckle.  His  head  burned,  his  bones  ached ;  but 
he  was  in  a  sort  of  nervous  delight. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  thought  he.  "  What  will  she  do  ? 
Will  she  send  her  maid  with  a  note  ?  How  blue  he  will 
look  I  Or,  will  she  come  herself  ?  She  is  a  country 
wife  ;  there  must  be  a  scene.  Oh,  why  doesn't  she  come 
into  this  room  ?     She  must  know  we  are  here  !     Is  she 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  119 

watching  somewhere  ?  "  His  brain  became  puzzled,  and 
his  senses  were  sharpened  to  a  point ;  he  was  all  eye,  ear 
and  expectation ;  and  this  was  why  he  was  the  only  one 
to  hear  a  very  slight  sound  behind  the  door  we  have 
mentioned,  and  next  to  perceive  a  lady's  glove  lying 
close  to  that  door.  Mabel  had  dropped  it  in  her  retreat. 
l*utting  this  and  that  together,  he  was  led  to  hope  and 
believe  she  was  there,  making  her  toilet  perhaps,  and 
her  arrival  at  present  unknown. 

"  Do  you  expect  no  one  else  ?  "  said  he,  with  feigned 
carelessness,  to  Mr.  Vane. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Vane,  with  real  carelessness. 

'*  It  must  be  so  !     What  fortune  ! "  thought  Pomander. 

Soaper.  Mr.  Gibber  looks  no  older  than  he  did  five 
years  ago. 

Snarl.  There  was  no  room  on  his  face  for  a  fresh 
wrinkle. 

Soaper.  He  !  he  !  Nay,  Mr.  Snarl ;  Mr.  Gibber  is 
like  old  port :  the  more  ancient  he  grows,  the  more 
delicious  his  perfume. 

Snarl.     And  the  crustier  he  gets. 

Clive.  Mr.  Vane,  you  should  always  separate  those 
two.  Snarl,  by  himself,  is  just  supportable,  but  when 
Soaper  paves  the  way  with  his  hypocritical  praise,  the 
pair  are  too  much  ;  they  are  a  two-edged  sword. 

Woffington.     Wanting  nothing  but  polish  and  point. 

Vane.  Gentlemen,  we  abandon  your  neighbor,  Mr. 
Quin,  to  you. 

Quin.  They  know  better.  If  they  don't  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  their  heads,  no  fat  goes  from  here  to  them. 

Cibher.  Ah,  Mr.  Vane,  this  room  is  delightful  ;  but  it 
makes  me  sad.  I  know  this  house  in  Lord  Longueville's 
time  ;  an  unrivalled  gallant,  Peggy.  You  may  just  re- 
member him,  Sir  Gharles  ? 

Pomander  (with  his  eye  on  a  certain  door).  Yes,  yes ; 
a  gouty  old  fellow. 


I'JO  TEG     WOFFINGTON. 

Cibber  fired  up.  "  I  wish  you  may  evt-r  be  like  him. 
Oh,  the  beauty,  the  wit,  the  petits-soupers  that  used  to 
be  here  !  Longucville  was  a  great  creature,  Mr.  Vane. 
I  have  known  him  entertain  a  fine  lady  in  this  room, 
while  her  rival  was  fretting  and  fuming  on  the  other  side 
of  that  door." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ! "  said  Sir  Charles. 

"  More  shame  for  him,"  said  Mr.  Vane. 

Here  was  luck  !  I'omander  seized  this  opportunity  of 
turning  the  conversation  to  his  object.  With  a  malicious 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  he  incjuired  of  Mr.  Ciliber  what  made 
him  fancy  the  house  had  lost  its  virtue  in  Mr.  Vane's 
hands  ? 

'*  Hecause,"  said  Cibber,  peevishly,  ''30U  all  want  the 
tnie  s(7roir  /aire  nowadays,  because  there  is  no  juste 
milieii,  young  gentlemen.  The  young  dogs  of  to-day  are 
all  either  uni)rincipled  heathen,  lik  yourself,  or  Ama- 
dises,  like  our  worthy  host."  The  old  gentleman's  face 
and  manners  were  like  those  of  a  })atriarch,  regretting 
the  general  decay  of  virtue,  not  the  imaginary  diminu- 
tion of  a  single  vice.  He  concluded  with  a  sigh,  that 
"the  true  preux  des  domes  went  out  with  the  full  peri- 
wig ;  stap  my  vitals  I  " 

"  A  bit  of  fat.  Mr.  Cibber  ?  "  said  Quin,  whose  jokes 
were  not  polished. 

"  Jemmy,  thou  art  a  brute,"  was  the  reply. 

"You  refuse,  sir?"  said  Quin,  sternly. 

"No,  sir  !  "  said  Cibber,  with  dignity  ;  "  I  accept." 

Pomander's  eye  was  ever  on  the  door. 

"  The  old  are  so  unjust  to  the  young,"  said  he.  "  You 
pretend  that  the  Deluge  washed  away  iniquity,  and  that 
a  rake  is  a  fossil.  What,"  said  he,  leaning  as  it  were 
on  every  word,  "  if  I  bet  you  a  cool  hundred,  that  Vane 
has  a  petticoat  in  that  room,  and  that  Mrs.  Woffington 
shall  unearth  her  ?  " 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  121 

The  malicious  dog  thought  this  was  the  surest  way 
CO  effect  a  dramatic  exposure  ;  because,  if  Peggy  found 
Mabel  to  all  appearances  concealed,  Peggy  would  scold 
her,  and  betray  herself. 

"  Pomander  ! "  cried  Vane,  in  great  heat ;  then  cheek- 
ing himself,  he  said  coolly:  ''But  you  all  know 
Pomander." 

"  None  of  you,"  replied  that  gentleman.  "  Bring  a 
chair,  sir,"  said  he,  authoritatively,  to  a  servant ;  who, 
of  course,  obeyed. 

Mrs.  Clive  looked  at  him  and  thought :  "  There  is 
something  in  this  !  " 

"  It  is  for  the  lady,"  said  he,  coolly.  Then  leaning 
over  the  table,  he  said  to  Mrs.  Woffington,  with  an  impu- 
dent affectation  of  friendly  understanding :  "I  ran  her 
to  earth  in  this  house  not  ten  minutes  ago.  Of  course, 
I  don't  know  who  she  is  !  But,"  smacking  his  lips,  "a. 
rustic  Amaryllis,  breathing  all  Maybuds  and  meadow- 
sweet." 

"  Have  her  out,  Peggy  !  "  shouted  Gibber.  "  I  know 
the  run  —  there's  the  covert !  Hark  forward  !  Ha,  ha, 
ha!" 

Mr.  Vane  rose,  and  with  a  sternness  that  brought 
the  old  beau  up  with  a  run,  he  said :  "  Mr.  Gibber, 
age  and  infirmity  are  privileged ;  but  for  you.  Sir 
Charles  "  — 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  interposed  Mrs.  Woffington,  whose 
terror  was  lest  he  should  quarrel  with  so  practised  a 
swordsman.  "Don't  you  see  it  is  a  jest !  and,  as  might 
be  expected  from  poor  Sir  Gharles,  a  very  sorry  one." 

"A  jest!"  said  Vane,  white  with  rage.  "Let  it  go 
no  farther,  or  it  will  be  earnest ! " 

Mrs.  Woffington  placed  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
at  that  touch  he  instantly  yielded,  and  sat  down. 

It  was  at  this  moment,  when  Sir  Charles  found  him- 


122  PEG    WOKl'MNGTON. 

self  for  the  present  battied  —  for  he  could  no  longer 
press  his  point,  and  search  that  room;  when  the  atten- 
tion of  all  was  drawn  to  a  dispute,  which,  for  a  moment, 
had  looked  like  a  ijuarrt-l ;  whilst  Mrs.  \Vottiii^;ton's  hanil 
still  lingered,  as  only  a  woman's  hand  can  linger  in  leav- 
ing the  shoulder  of  the  man  she  loves ;  it  was  at  this 
moment,  the  door  ojjciieil  of  its  own  accord,  and  a  most 
Ijeautiful  woman  stood,  with  a  light  step,  upon  the 
threshold: 

Nobody's  back  was  to  her,  except  iMr.  Vane's.  Every 
eye,  but  his,  was  spell-bound  upon  her. 

Mrs.  Wottington  withdrew  her  haiifl,  as  if  a  scorpion 
had  touched  her. 

A  stupor  of  astonishment  fell  on  them  all. 

Mr.  Vane,  seeing  the  direction  of  all  their  eyes,  slewed 
himself  round  in  his  chair  into  a  most  awkward  position, 
and  when  he  saw  the  lady,  he  was  utterly  dumfounded! 
But  she,  as  soon  as  he  turned  his  face  her  way,  glided  up 
to  him  with  a  half  sigh,  half  cry  of  joy,  and  taking  liim 
round  the  neck,  kissed  him  deliciously,  while  every  eye 
at  the  table  met  every  other  eye  in  turn.  One  or  two  of 
the  men  rose ;  for  the  lady's  beauty  was  as  worthy  of 
homage,  as  her  appearing  was  marvellous. 

Mrs.  Woftington,  too  astonished  for  emotion  to  take 
any  definite  shape,  said,  in  what  seemed  an  ordinary 
tone  :  "  Who  is  this  lady  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  wife,  madam,"  said  Mabel,  in  the  voice  of  a 
skylark,  and  smiling  friendly  on  the  questioner. 

"It  is  ray  wife  ! "  said  Vane,  like  a  speaking-machine; 
he  was  scarcely  in  a  conscious  state.  "  It  is  my  wife  !  " 
he  repeated,  mechanically. 

The  words  were  no  sooner  out  of  Mabel's  mouth  than 
two  servants,  who  had  never  heard  of  Mrs.  Vane  before, 
hastened  to  place  on  Mr.  Vane's  right  hand  the  chair 
Pomander  had  provided,  a  plate  and  napkin  were  there 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  123 

in  a  twinkling,  and  the  wife  modestly,  but  as  a  matter 
of  course,  courtesied  low,  with  an  air  of  welcome  to  all 
her  guests,  and  then  glided  into  the  seat  her  servants 
obsequiously  placed  for  her. 

The  whole  thing  did  not  take  half  a  minute  ! 


124  PK«;    WOIFINGTON. 


riTAi'iii:   XI. 

Mr.  Vank,  besides  being  a  rich,  was  a  magiiificotit  man ; 
when  his  features  were  in  repose  their  beanty  huil  a  wise 
and  stately  chara(;ter.  8oaper  and  Snarl  had  admired, 
and  bitterly  envi'd  hin>.  At  the  present  nu)m«'nt  no 
one  of  his  gm-sts  envied  hira — they  began  to  realize  his 
position.  And  he,  a  huge  wheel  of  shame  and  remorse 
began  to  turn  and  whirr  before  his  eyes.  He  sat  between 
two  P2uropean  beauties,  and  pale  and  red  by  turns,  shunned 
the  eyes  of  both,  and  looked  down  at  his  })late  in  a  cold 
sweat  of  humiliation,  mortification,  and  shame. 

The  iron  passed  through  Mrs.  Wollington's  soul.  iSo ! 
this  was  a  villain  too,  the  greatest  villain  of  all  —  a 
hypocrite  !  She  turned  very  faint,  but  she  was  under 
an  enemy's  eye,  and  under  a  rivar.-^ ;  tlie  thought  drove 
the  blood  back  from  her  heart,  and  with  a  mighty  effort 
she  was  WotHngton  again.  Hitherto  her  liaison  with 
Mr.  Vane  had  called  up  the  better  ]>art  of  her  nature, 
and  perhaps  our  reader  has  been  taking  her  for  a  good 
woman  ;  but  now  all  her  dregs  were  stirred  to  the  sur- 
face. The  mortified  actress  gulled  by  a  novice,  the 
wronged  and  insulted  woman,  had  but  two  thoughts ;  to 
defeat  her  rival — to  be  revenged  on  her  false  lover. 
More  than  one  sharp  spasm  passed  over  her  features 
before  she  could  master  them,  and  then  she  became 
smiles  above,  wormwood  and  red-hot  steel  below  —  all 
in  less  than  half  a  minute. 

As  for  the  others,  looks  of  keen  intelligence  passed 
between  them,  and  they  watched  with  burning  interest 
for  the  denoument.     That  interest  was   stronger  than 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  125 

their  sense  of  the  comicality  of  all  this  (for  the  humorous 
view  of  what  passes  before  our  eyes,  comes  upon  cool 
reflection,  not  often  at  the  time). 

Sir  Charles,  indeed,  who  had  foreseen  some  of  this, 
wore  a  demure  look,  belied  by  his  glittering  eye.  He 
offered  Gibber  snuff,  and  the  two  satirical  animals  grinned 
over  the  snuff-box,  like  a  malicious  old  ape  and  a  mis- 
chievous young  monkey. 

The  new-comer  was  charming;  she  was  above  the 
middle  height,  of  a  full  though  graceful  figure ;  her 
abundant,  glossy,  bright  brown  hair  glittered  here  and 
there  like  gold  in  the  light ;  she  had  a  snowy  brow,  eyes 
of  the  profoundest  blue,  a  cheek  like  a  peach,  and  a  face 
beaming  candor  and  goodness ;  the  character  of  her 
countenance  resembled  "  the  Queen  of  the  May,''  in  Mr. 
Leslie's  famous  picture,  more  than  any  face  of  our  day  I 
can  call  to  mind. 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me  for  this  silly  trick  ?  " 
said  she,  with  some  misgiving.  "After  all,  I  am  only 
two  hours  before  my  time  ;  you  know,  dearest,  1  said 
four  in  my  letter  —  did  I  not  ?  " 

Vane  stammered.     What  could  he  say  ? 

"  And  you  have  had  three  days  to  prepare  you,  for  I 
wrote,  like  a  good  wife,  to  ask  leave  before  starting; 
but  he  never  so  much  as  answered  my  letter,  madam." 
(This  she  addressed  to  Mrs.  Woffington,  who  smiled  by 
main  force.) 

"  Why,"  stammered  Vane,  "  could  you  doubt  ?  I  — 
I"  — 

"  No  !  Silence  was  consent,  was  it  not  ?  But  I  beg 
your  pardon,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  hope  you  will  for- 
give me.  It  is  six  months  since  I  saw  him  —  so  you 
understand  —  I  warrant  me  you  did  not  look  for  me  so 
soon,  ladies  ?  " 

"  Some  of  us  .did  not  look  for  you  at  all,  madam,"  said 
Mrs.  Woffington. 


126  vva;   W()Ki-in(;ton. 

''What!     Krncst  diil  not  toll  you  he  exported  me?" 

"Nn!  lie  t(»ld  us  this  banquet  was  in  honor  of  a 
lady's  first  visit  to  his  house,  but  none  of  us  imagined 
that  lady  tt)  ht-  his  wife." 

Vane  began  to  writhe  under  that  terrible  tongue,  whose 
point  hitherto  had  ever  been  turned  away  from  him. 

•*  He  intended  to  steal  a  march  on  us,"  said  I'omander, 
dryly;  "and  with  your  help,  we  steal  one  on  him;"  and 
he  smih'd  maliciously  on  Mrs.  Wottinj^ton. 

"  Hut,  madam."  said  Mr.  Quin.  "the  monit-nt  you  did 
arrive,  1  kept  sacred  for  you  a  bit  of  the  fat  for  which,  I 
am  sure,  you  must  be  ready.     Pass  her  plate  I  " 

"Not  at  present.  Mr.  t^uin,"  said  Mr.  Vane,  hastily. 
"She  is  about  to  retirt'  and  change  her  travelling  dress." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  you  forget.  1  am  a  stranger  to  your 
friends.     Will  you  not  introduce  me  to  them  first?" 

"No,  no.'"'  cried  Vane,  in  trepidation.  "It  is  not 
usual  to  introduce  in  the  beau  inomle." 

"  We  always  introduce  ourselves."  rejoined  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington ;  and  she  rose  slowly,  with  her  eye  on  Vane. 
He  oast  a  look  of  abject  entreaty  <jn  her;  but  there  was 
no  pity  in  that  curling  lip  and  awful  eye.  He  closed 
his  own  eyes,  and  waited  for  the  blow.  Sir  Charles 
threw  liimself  back  in  his  chair,  and  chuckling,  prepared 
for  the  explosion.  Mrs.  Wottington  saw  him,  and  cast 
on  him  a  look  of  ineftable  scorn ;  and  then  she  held  the 
whole  company  fluttering  a  long  while.  At  length : 
"The  Honorable  Mrs.  Quickly,  madam,"  said  she,  indi- 
cating Mrs.  Clive. 

This  turn  took  them  all  by  surprise.  Pomander  bit 
his  lip. 

"  Sir  John  Brute  "  — 

"  Falstaff."  cried  Quin  ;  "  hang  it." 

"  Sir  John  Brute  Falstaif,"  resumed  Mrs.  Woffington. 
"  We  call  him,  for  brevity,  Brute." 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  127 

Vane  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Your  neighbor  is  Lord 
Foppington;  a  butterfly  of  some  standing,  and  a  little 
gouty." 

"  Sir  Charles  Pomander." 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Vane.  "  It  is  the  good  gentleman 
who  helped  us  out  of  the  slough,  near  Huntingdon. 
Ernest,  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  gentleman,  I  should 
not  have  had  the  pleasure  of  being  here  now."  And  she 
beamed  on  the  good  Pomander. 

Mr.  Vane  did  not  rise  and  embrace  Sir  Charles. 

"  All  the  company  thanks  the  good  Sir  Charles,"  said 
Gibber,  bowing. 

"  I  see  it  in  all  their  faces,"  said  the  good  Sir  Charles, 
dryly. 

Mrs.  Woffington  continued  :  "  Mr.  Soaper,  Mr.  Snarl ; 
gentlemen  who  would  butter  and  slice  up  their  own 
fathers !  " 

"  Bless  me  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Vane,  faintly. 

"  Critics  ! "  And  she  dropped,  as  it  were,  the  word 
dryly,  with  a  sweet  smile,  into  Mabel's  plate. 

Mrs.  Vane  was  relieved  ;  she  had  apprehended  canni- 
bals.    London  they  had  told  her  was  full  of  curiosities. 

"  But  yourself,  madam  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  Lady  Betty  Modish ;  at  your  service." 

A  four-inch  grin  went  round  the  table.  The  dramati- 
cal old  rascal,  Cibber,  began  now  to  look  at  it  as  a  bit  of 
genteel  comedy ;  and  slipped  out  his  note-book  under 
the  table.  Pomander  cursed  her  ready  wit,  which  had 
disappointed  him  of  his  catastrophe.  Vane  wrote  on  a 
slip  of  paper :  "  Pity  and  respect  the  innocent ! "  and 
passed  it  to  Mrs.  Woffington.  He  could  not  have  done  a 
more  superfluous  or  injudicious  thing. 

"  And  now,  Ernest,"  cried  Mabel,  "  for  the  news  from 
Willoughby." 

Vane  stopped  her  in  dismay.     He  felt  how  many  satiri- 


128  PKO    WOFFTXnTON. 

cal  eyPK  and  ears  wen*  ujion  him  and  his  wifp.  "Pray 
go  and  rliange  your  dress  Hrst,  Mabel/'  erifd  lie,  fully 
determined  that  on  her  return  she  should  not  find  the 
present  party  there. 

Mrs.  Vane  cast  an  imploring  look  on  ^Irs.  WoflRngton. 
"  My  things  are  not  come,"  said  she.  "  And,  Lady  lietty, 
I  had  so  much  to  tell  him,  and  to  be  sent  away ;  "  and 
the  deep  blue  eyes  began  to  fill. 

Now,  Mrs.  Wothngton  was  determined  that  this  lady, 
who  she  saw  was  simple,  should  disgust  her  husl)and,  by 
talking  twaddle  before  a  band  of  satirists.  So  she  said 
warmly :  ''  It  is  not  fair  on  us.  Pray,  madam,  your 
budget  of  country  news.  Clouted  cream  so  seldom  comes 
to  London  quite  fresh." 

"  There,  you  see,  Ernest,"  said  the  unsuspicious  soul. 
"  FirsVyou  must  know  that  Gray  Gillian  is  turned  out 
for  a  brood  mare,  so  old  George  won't  let  me  ride  her ; 
old  servants  are  such  tyrants,  my  lady.  And  my  liarbary 
hen  has  laid  two  eggs;  Heaven  knows  the  trouble  we 
had  to  bring  her  to  it.  And  Dame  Best,  that  is  my 
husband's  old  nurse,  Mrs.  Quickly,  has  had  soup  and 
pudding  from  the  Hall  every  day  :  and  once  she  went  so 
far  as  to  say  it  Avasn't  altogether  a  bad  jjudding.  8he 
is  not  a  very  grateful  woman,  in  a  general  way,  poor 
thing!     I  made  it  with  these  hands." 

Vane  writhed. 

"  Happy  pudding  !  "  observed  Mr,  Gibber. 

"  Is  this  mockery,  sir  ? ''  cried  Vane,  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  irritation. 

''  No,  sir  ;  it  is  gallantry,"  replied  Gibber,  with  perfect 
coolness. 

"  Will  you  hear  a  little  music  in  the  garden  ?  "  said 
Vane  to  Mrs.  Woffington,  pooh-pouhiug  his  wife's  news. 

"Not  till  I  hear  the  end  of  Dame  13ess." 

"Best,  my  lady." 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  129 

"Dame  Best  interests  me,  Mr.  Vane." 

"  Ay  !  and  Ernest  is  very  fond  of  her  too,  when  he  is 
at  home.  She  is  in  her  nice  new  cottage,  dear ;  bnt  she 
misses  the  draughts  that  were  in  her  old  one  — they  were 
like  old  friends.  'The  only  ones  I  have,  I'm  thinking,' 
said  the  dear  cross  old  thing :  and  there  stood  I,  on  her 
floor,  with  a  flannel  petticoat  in  both  hands,  that  I  had 
made  for  her,  and  ruined  my  finger.  Look  else,  my 
Lord  Foppington  ?  "  She  extended  a  hand  the  color  of 
cream. 

"  Permit  me,  madam ; "  taking  out  his  glasses,  with 
which  he  inspected  her  finger ;  and  gravely  announced  to 
the  company :  "  The  laceration  is,  in  fact,  discernible. 
May  I  be  permitted,  madam,"  added  he,  "to  kiss  this 
fair  hand,  which  I  should  never  have  suspected  of  having 
ever  made  itself  half  so  useful  ?  " 

"  Ay,  my  lord !  "  said  she,  coloring  slightly,  "you  shall, 
because  you  are  so  old;  but  I  don't  say  for  a  young 
gentleman,  unless  it  was  the  one  that  belongs  to  me ;  and 
he  does  not  ask  me." 

"  My  dear  Mabel ;  pray  remember  we  are  not  at  Wil- 
lo\lghby." 

"  I  see  we  are  not,  Ernest."  And  the  dove-like  eyes 
filled  brimful ;  and  all  her  innocent  prattle  was  put  an 
end  to. 

"What  brutes  men  are,"  thought  Mrs.  Woffington. 
"They  are  not  worthy  even  of  a  fool  like  this." 

Mr.  Vane  once  more  pressed  her  to  hear  a  little  music 
in  the  garden ;  and  this  time  she  consented.  Mr.  Vane 
was  far  from  being  unmoved  by  his  wife's  arrival,  and 
her  true  affection.  But  she  worried  him ;  he  was  anxious, 
above  all  things,  to  escape  from  his  present  position,  and 
separate  the  rival  queens ;  and  this  was  the  only  way  he 
could  see  to  do  it.  He  whispered  Mabel,  and  bade  her 
somewhat  peremptorily  rest  herself  for  an  hour  after 
9 


130  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

hor    jonrnpy,    and    he    entered    the    garden    with    Mrs 
Woffin,\'ton. 

Now,  tlie  other  gentlemen  admired  Mrs.  Vane  tlie  most 
She  was  new.  She  was  as  lovely,  in  her  way,  as  IVggy ; 
and  it  was  the  young  May-born  lieauty  of  tiic  cuuntr}'. 
They  forgave  her  simplicity,  and  even  her  goodness,  on 
account  of  her  beauty ;  men  are  not  severe  judgts  ol 
bt'autiful  women.  They  all  solicited  her  to  come  with 
them,  and  be  the  queen  of  the  garden.  But  the  good 
wife  was  obedient.  Her  lord  had  toM  her  she  was 
fatigued  ;  so  she  said  she  was  tired. 

"Mr.  Vane's  garden  will  lack  its  sweetest  and  fairest 
flower,  madam,"  cried  Gibber,  "  if  we  leave  you  Iwre.'' 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  there  are  fairer  than  I.'' 

"Poor  QuinI"  cried  Kitty  Clive;  "to  have  to  leave 
the  alderman's  walk  for  the  garden-walk." 

"All  1  regret,"  said  the  honest  glutton,  stoutly,  "is 
that  I  go  without  carving  for  Mrs.  Vane." 

"  You  are  very  good.  Sir  .John  ;  I  will  be  more  trouble- 
some to  you  at  supper-time." 

When  they  were  all  gone,  she  couldn't  help  sighing. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  everybody  was  kinder  to  her  than 
he  whose  kindness  alone  she  valued.  •'  And  he  must 
take  Lady  Betty's  hand  instead  of  mine,"  thought  she. 
"  But  that  is  good  breeding,  I  suppose.  1  wish  there 
was  no  such  thing :  we  are  ven.'  happy  without  it  in 
Shropshire."  Then  this  poor  little  soul  was  ashamed  of 
herself,  and  took  herself  to  task.  "  Poor  Ernest,"  said 
she,  pitying  the  wrong-doer,  like  a  woman,  "  he  was  not 
pleased  to  be  so  taken  by  surprise.  No  wonder;  they 
are  so  ceremonious  in  London.  How  good  of  him  not  to 
be  angry  !"  Then  she  sighed;  her  heart  had  recei\'ed  a 
damp.  His  voice  seemed  changed,  and  he  did  not  meet 
her  eyes  with  the  look  he  worfe  at  Willoughby.  She 
looked  timidly  into  the  garden.     She  saw  the  gay  colors 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  131 

of  beaux,  as  well  as  of  belles  —  for  in  these  days  broad- 
cloth had  not  displaced  silk  and  velvet  —  glancing  and 
shining  among  the  trees ;  and  she  sighed,  but  presently 
brightening  up  a  little,  she  said :  "  I  will  go  and  see  that 
the  coffee  is  hot  and  clear,  and  the  chocolate  well  mixed 
for  them."  The  poor  child  wanted  to  do  something  to 
please  her  husband.  Before  she  could  carry  out  this  act 
of  domestic  virtue,  her  attention  was  drawn  to  a  strife 
of  tongues  in  the  hall.  She  opened  the  folding-doors, 
and  there  was  a  fine  gentleman  obstructing  the  entrance 
of  a  sombre  rusty  figure,  with  a  portfolio  and  a  manu- 
script under  each  arm. 

The  fine  gentleman  was  Colander.  The  seedy  person- 
age was  the  eternal  Triplet,  come  to  make  hay  with  his 
five-foot  rule  while  the  sun  shone.  Colander  had  opened 
the  door  to  him,  and  he  had  shot  into  the  hall.  The 
major-domo  obstructed  the  further  entrance  of  such  a 
coat. 

"  I  tell  you  my  master  is  not  at  home,"  remonstrated 
the  major-domo. 

"  How  can  you  say  so,"  cried  Mrs.  Vane,  in  surprise, 
"  when  j'-ou  know  he  is  in  the  garden  ?  " 

"  Simpleton  ! "  thought  Colander. 

"  Show  the  gentleman  in." 

"  Gentleman  ! "  muttered  Colander. 

Triplet  thanked  her  for  her  condescension ;  he  would 
wait  for  Mr.  Vane  in  the  hall.  "  I  came  by  appointment, 
madam  ;  this  is  the  only  excuse  for  the  importunity  you 
have  just  witnessed." 

Hearing  this,  Mrs.  Vane  dismissed  Colander  to  inform 
his  master.  Colander  bowed  loftily,  and  walked  into  the 
servants'  hall  without  deigning  to  take  the  last  proposi- 
tion into  consideration. 

"  Come  in  here,  sir,"  said  Mabel ;  "  Mr.  Vane  will  come 
as  soon  as  he  can  leave  his  company."     Triplet  entered 

Vol.  9—5 


132  I'EG    WOFFINGTON. 

in  a  series  of  obsequious  jerks.  "  Sit  down  and  rest  you, 
sir."  And  Mrs.  Vane  seated  herself  at  the  table,  and 
motioned  with  her  white  hand  to  Triplet  to  sit  beside 
her. 

Triplet  bowed,  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  ehair,  and 
smirked  and  dropped  his  portfolio,  and  instantly  begged 
Mrs.  Vane's  pardon ;  in  taking  it  up,  he  let  fall  his 
manuscript,  and  was  again  confused;  but  in  the  middle 
of  some  sui)erHuuus  and  absurd  excuse  his  eye  fell  on 
the  haunch ;  it  straightway  dilated  to  an  enormous  size, 
and  he  became  suddenly  silent  and  absorbed  in  contem- 
plation. 

"  You  look  sadly  tired,  sir." 

"Why,  yes,  madam.  It  is  a  long  w^ay  from  Lambeth 
Walk,  and  it  is  passing  hot,  madam."  He  took  his 
handkerchief  out,  and  was  about  to  wipe  his  brow,  but 
returned  it  hastily  to  his  pocket.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
madam,"  said  Triplet,  whose  ideas  of  breeding,  though 
speculative,  were  severe,  "  I  forgot  myself." 

Mabel  looked  at  him,  and  colored,  and  slightly  hesi- 
tated. At  last,  she  said :  "  I'll  be  bound  you  came  in 
such  a  hurry  you  forgot  —  you  mustn't  be  angry  with  me 
—  to  have  your  dinner  first  ?  " 

For  Triplet  looked  like  an  absurd  wolf  —  all  benevo- 
lence and  starvation. 

"  What  divine  intelligence  !  "  thought  Trip.  "  How 
strange,  madam,"  cried  he,  "you  have  hit  it!  This 
accounts,  at  once,  for  a  craving  I  feel.  Now  you  remind 
me,  I  recollect  carving  for  others,  I  did  forget  to  remem- 
ber myself.  Not  that  I  need  have  forgot  it  to-day, 
madam  ;  but  being  used  to  forget  it,  I  did  not  remember 
not  to  forget  it  to-day,  madam,  that  was  all."  And  the 
author  of  this  intelligent  account  smiled  very,  very,  very 
absurdly. 

She  poured   him    out  a  glass  of  wine.     He  rose  and 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  133 

bowed ;  but  peremptorily  refused  it,  with  his  tongue  — 
his  eye  drank  it. 

"  But  you  must,"  persisted  this  hospitable  lady. 

"  But,  madam,  consider  1  am  not  entitled  to  —  Nectar, 
as  I  am  a  man  ! " 

The  white  hand  was  filling  his  plate  with  partridge 
pie  ;  '^  But,  madam,  you  don't  consider  how  you  over- 
whelm me  with  your  —  Ambrosia,  as  I  am  a  poet !  " 

*'  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Vane  should  keep  you  waiting." 

"By  no  means,  madam  ;  it  is  very  fortunate  —  I  mean 
it  procures  me  the  pleasure  of  —  (here  articulation  be- 
came obstructed)  your  society,  madam.  Besides,  the 
servants  of  the  Muse  are  used  to  waiting.  What  we  are 
not  used  to  is  (here  the  white  hand  filled  his  glass) 
being  waited  upon  by  Hebe  and  the  Twelve  Graces, 
whose  health  I  have  the  honor  "  (deglutition)  — 

"A  poet!"  cried  Mabel;  "oh,  I  am  so  glad!  Little 
did  I  ever  think  to  see  a  living  poet !  Dear  heart !  I 
should  not  have  known,  if  you  had  not  told  me.  Sir,  I 
love  poetry ! " 

"It  is  in  your  face,  madam."  Triplet  instantly 
whipped  out  his  manuscript,  put  a  i)late  on  one  corner 
of  it,  and  a  decanter  on  the  other,  and  begged  her  opin- 
ion of  this  trifle,  composed,  said  he,  "  in  honor  of  a  lady 
Mr.  Vane  entertains  to-day." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Mrs.  Vane,  and  colored  with  pleasure. 
How  ungrateful  she  had  been  !  Here  was  an  attention  I 
—  For,  of  course,  she  never  doubted  that  the  verses  were 
in  honor  of  her  arrival. 

"  'Bright  being'"  — 

sang  out  Triplet. 

"Nay,  sir,"  said  Mabel;  "I  think  I  know  the  lady, 
and  it  would  be  hardly  proper  of  me  "  — 

"  Oh  !  madam  !  "  said  Triplet  solemnly  ;  "  strictly  cor- 


134  PEG    WOKKINfJTON, 

rect,  madam  ! "  And  hv  spread  his  hand  out  over  his 
bosom.  ''  Strictly  !  —  '  Hhinderhuss  '  (my  poetical  name, 
madam)  never  stooped  to  the  taste  of  tin-  town. 

**  '  Bright  being,  thou ' "  — 

"  Hut  you  must  have  another  glass  of  wine  first,  and  a 
slice  of  the  haunch." 

"With  alacrity,  madam."  He  laid  in  a  fresh  stock  of 
provisions. 

Strange  it  was,  to  see  them  side  hy  side !  fie,  a  Don 
Quixote,  with  eordage  instead  of  lines  in  his  mahogany- 
face,  and  clothes  hanging  upon  him :  she,  smooth,  duck- 
like, delicious,  and  bright  as  an  opening  rose  fresh  with 
dew  ! 

She  watched  him  kindly,  archly,  and  demurely  ;  and 
still  plied  him.  country  wise,  with  every  mortal  thing  on 
the  table. 

Hut  the  poet  was  not  a  boa-constrietor,  and  even  a  boa- 
constrictor  has  an  end.  Hunger  satisfied,  his  next  strong- 
est feeling,  simple  vanity,  remained  to  be  contented. 
As  the  last  morsel  went  in  out  came  :  — 

"  '  Bright  being,  thou  whose  ra — '" 

"No!  no!"  said  she,  who  fancied  herself  (and  not 
without  reason)  the  bright  being.  "  Mr.  Vane  intended 
them  for  a  surprise." 

"  As  you  please,  madam  ;  "  and  the  disappointed  bore 
sighed.  "  But  you  would  have  liked  them,  for  the  theme 
inspired  me.  The  kindest,  the  most  generous  of  women ! 
Don't  you  agree  with  me,  madam  ?  " 

Mabel  Vane  opened  her  eyes.  "  Hardly,  sir,"  laughed 
she. 

"  If  you  knew  her  as  I  do." 

"  I  ought  to  know  her  better,  sir." 

"  Ay,  indeed  !     Well,  madam,  now  her  kindness  to  me, 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  135 

for  instance  —  a  poor  devil  like  me.  The  expression,  I 
trust,  is  not  disagreeable  to  you,  madam  ?  If  so,  forgive 
me,  and  consider  it  withdrawn." 

"  La,  sir  !  civility  is  so  cheap,  if  you  go  to  that." 

"Civility,  ma'am?  Why,  she  has  saved  me  from 
despair  —  from  starvation,  perhaps." 

"Poor  thing!  Well,  indeed,  sir,  you  looked — you 
looked  —  what  a  shame  !  and  you  a  poet." 

"  From  an  epitaph  to  an  epic,  madam." 

At  this  moment  a  figure  looked  in  upon  them  from  the 
garden,  but  retreated  unobserved.  It  was  Sir  Charles 
Pomander,  who  had  slipped  away,  with  the  heartless  and 
malicious  intention  of  exposing  the  husband  to  the  wife, 
and  profiting  by  her  indignation  and  despair.  Seeing 
Triplet,  he  made  an  extemporaneous  calculation  that  so 
infernal  a  chatterbox  could  not  be  ten  minutes  in  her 
company  without  telling  her  everything,  and  this  would 
serve  his  turn  very  well.  He  therefore  postponed  his 
purpose,  and  strolled  away  to  a  short  distance. 

Triplet  justified  the  Baronet's  opinion.  Without  any 
sort  of  sequency,  he  now  informed  Mrs.  Vane  that  the 
benevolent  lady  was  to  sit  to  him  for  her  portrait. 

Here  was  a  new  attention  of  Ernest's.  How  good 
he  was,  and  how  wicked  and  ungrateful  she  ! 

"  What !  are  you  a  painter  too  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"From  a  house  front  to  an  historical  composition, 
madam." 

"Oh,  what  tb  clever  man!  And  so  Ernest  commis- 
sioned you  to  paint  a  portrait  ?  " 

"  No,  madam  ;  for  that  I  am  indebted  to  the  lady  her- 
self." 

"  The  lady  herself  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam ;  and  I  expected  to  find  her  here.  Will 
you  add  to  your  kindness  by  informing  me  whether  she 
has  arrived  ?     Or  she  is  gone  "  — 


l.'tC  PEO    WOFFINGTON. 

''  Who,  sir  ?    (Oh,  dear  !  not  my  portrait !   0  Ernest !)  " 

"Who,  madam'/"  criud  Triplet;  *'why,  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton ! " 

"  She  is  not  here,"  said  Mrs.  Vane,  who  remembered 
all  till-  nam«!s  pcrl'eetly  wi-ll.  ••  Thrre  is  one  charming 
lady  among  our  guests;  her  face  took  me  in  a  moment; 
but  she  is  a  titled  lady ;  there  is  no  Mrs.  AN'oflington 
amongst  them." 

"Strange,"  replied  Triplet,  "she  was  to  be  here;  and, 
in  fact,  that  is  why  I  expedited  these  lines  in  her  honor." 

*'In  her  honor,  sir  '.'  " 

"  Yes,  madam.     Allow  me  : 

*•  *  Bright  being,  tlmu  whose  radiant  brow'"  — 

"No!  no!  I  don't  care  to  hear  them  now,  for  I  don't 
know  the  lady.'' 

"  Well,  madam  —  but  at  least  you  have  seen  her  act  ?  " 
"  Act !  you  don't  mean  all  this  is  for  an  actress  ?  " 
''An  actress?  The  actress!  And  you  have  never 
seen  her  act  ?  What  a  pleasure  you  have  to  come  !  To 
see  her  act  is  a  privilege ;  but  to  act  with  her  as  I  once 
did  1  But  she  does  not  remember  that,  nor  shall  I  remind 
her,  madam,"  said  Triplet,  stenily.  "  On  that  occasion 
I  was  hissed,  owing  to  circumstances  which,  for  the 
credit  of  our  common  nature,  I  suppress." 

"  What !  are  you  an  actor,  too  ?     You  are  everything." 
"  And  it  was  in  a  farce  of  my  own,  madam,  which,  by 
the  strangest  combination  of  accidents,  was  damned ! " 

"  A  play-writer  ?  Oh,  what  clever  men  there  are  in 
the  world  —  in  London,  at  least !  He  is  a  play -writer, 
too.  I  wonder  my  husband  comes  not.  Does  Mr.  Vane 
—  does  ]\rr.  Vane  admire  this  actress  ?  "  said  she,  sud- 
denly. 

"  Mr.  Vane,  madam,  is  a  gentleman  of  taste,"  said  he, 
pompously. 


PEG    WOFFIKGTON.  137 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  languidly,  "  she  is  not  here." 
Triplet  took  the  hint  and  rose.  "Good-by,"  said  she, 
sweetly;  "and  thank  you  kindly  for  your  company, 
Mr.  —  Mr."  — 

"Triplet,  madam  —  James  Triplet,  of  10  Hercules 
Buildings,  Lambeth.  Occasional  verses,  odes,  epithala- 
mia,  elegies,  dedications,  squibs,  impromptus,  and  hymns, 
executed  with  spirit,  punctuality,  and  secrecy.  Portraits 
painted,  and  instruction  in  declamation,  sacred,  profane, 
and  dramatic.  The  card,  madam  (and  he  drew  it  as 
doth  a  theatrical  fop  his  rapier),  of  him  who,  to  all 
these  qualifications,  adds  a  prouder  still  —  that  of  being, 
"  Madam, 
"  Your  humble,  devoted,  and  grateful  servant, 

"James  Triplet." 

He  bowed  in  a  line  from  his  right  shoulder  to  his  left 
toe,  and  moved  off.  But  Triplet  could  not  go  all  at  one 
time  out  of  such  company;  he  was  given  to  return  in 
real  life,  he  had  played  this  trick  so  often  on  the  stage. 
He  came  back,  exuberant  with  gratitude. 

"The  fact  is,  madam,"  said  he,  "strange  as  it  may 
appear  to  you,  a  kind  hand  has  not  so  often  been  held 
out  to  me,  that  I  should  forget  it,  especially  when  that 
hand  is  so  fair  and  gracious.  May  I  be  permitted, 
madam  —  you  will  impute  it  to  gratitude,  rather  than 
audacity  —  I  —  I  —  (whimper)  madam  (with  sudden 
severity),  I  am  gone  !  " 

These  last  words  he  pronounced  with  the  right  arm  at 
an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  and  the  fingers  pointing 
horizontally.  The  stage  had  taught  him  this  grace  also. 
In  his  day  an  actor  who  had  three  words  to  say,  such  as, 
"  My  Lord's  carriage  is  waiting,"  came  on  the  stage  with 
the  right  arm  thus  elevated,  delivered  his  message  in  the 
tone  of  a  falling  dynasty,  wheeled  like  a  soldier,  and 


138  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

retin'd  with  the  left  arm  pointing  to  the  sky,  and  the 
right  ext»'ndecl  behind  him  like  a  setter's  tail. 

Left  to  herself,  Mabel  was  uneasy.  '*  Ernest  is  so 
warm-hearted."  This  was  the  way  she  put  it  even  to 
herself.  He  admired  her  acting,  and  wished  to  j)ay  her 
a  compliment.  "What  if  I  carried  him  the  verses?" 
She  thought  she  should  surely  please  him,  by  showing 
she  was  not  the  least  jealous  or  doubtful  of  him.  The 
jjoor  child  wanted  so  to  win  a  kind  look  from  lu-r  hus- 
band;  but  ere  she  could  reach  the  window.  Sir  Charles 
I'omander  had  entered  it. 

Now,  Sir  Charles  was  naturally  welcome  to  Mrs.  Vane; 
for  all  she  knew  (jf  him  was.  tiiat  he  liad  helped  her  on 
the  road  to  her  husband. 

Fumander.  What,  madam,  all  alone  here  as  in  Shrop- 
shire ? 

Mabel.     For  the  moment,  sir. 

Pomander.  Force  of  habit.  A  husband  with  a  wife 
in  Shropshire  is  so  like  a  baclielor. 

Mabel.     Sir ! 

Foinander.  And  our  excellent  Ernest  is  such  a  favor- 
ite! 

Mabel.     No  wonder,  sir. 

Pomander.  Few  can  so  pass  from  the  larva  state  of 
country  squire  to  the  butterfly  nature  of  beau. 

Mabel.     Yes  (sadly),  I  find  him  changed. 

Pomander.  Changed  !  Transformed  I  He  is  now  the 
prop  of  the  "Cocoa  Tree,"  the  star  of  Ranelagh,  the 
Lauzun  of  the  green-room. 

Mabel.  The  green-room  I  Where  is  that  ?  You  mean 
kindly,  sir ;  but  you  make  me  unhappy. 

Pomander.  The  green-room,  my  dear  madam,  is  the 
bower  where  houris  put  off  their  wings,  and  goddesses 
become  dowdies ;  where  Lady  Macbeth  weeps  over  her 
lap-dog,  dead  from  repletion ;  and  Belvidera  soothes  her 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  139 

broken  heart  with  a  dozen  of  oysters  ;  in  a  word,  it  is  the 
place  where  actors  and  actresses  become  men  and  women, 
and  act  their  own  parts  with  skill,  instead  of  a  poet's, 
clumsily. 

Mabel.  Actors  !  actresses !  Does  Mr.  Vane  frequent 
such  — 

Pomander.  He  has  earned  in  six  months  a  reputation 
many  a  fine  gentleman  would  give  his  ears  for.  Not  a 
scandalous  journal  his  initials  have  not  figured  in.  Not 
an  actress  of  reputation  gossip  has  not  given  him  for  a 
conquest. 

"  How  dare  you  say  this  to  me  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Vane, 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  indignation,  and  then  the  tears 
streamed  over  her  lovely  cheeks ;  and  even  a  Pomander 
might  have  forborne  to  torture  her  so ;  but  Sir  Charles 
had  no  mercy. 

''  You  would  be  sure  to  learn  it,"  said  he  ;  "  and  with 
malicious  additions.  It  is  better  to  hear  the  truth  from 
a  friend." 

"  A  friend  ?  He  is  no  friend  to  a  house  who  calumni- 
ates the  husband  to  the  wife.  Is  it  the  part  of  a  friend 
to  distort  dear  Ernest's  kindliness  and  gayety  into  ill 
morals ;  to  pervert  his  love  of  poetry  and  plays  into  an 
unworthy  attachment  to  actors  and  —  oh  ! "  and  the  tears 
would  come.  But  she  dried  them,  for  now  she  hated  this 
man;  with  all  the  little  power  of  hatred  she  had,  she 
detested  him.  "Do  you  suppose  I  did  not  know  Mrs. 
Woffington  was  to  come  to  us  to-day  ?  "  cried  she,  strug- 
gling passionately  against  her  own  fears  and  Sir  Charles's 
innuendoes. 

"  What ! "  cried  he ;  "  you  recognized  her  ?  You  detected 
the  actress  of  all  work  under  the  airs  of  Lady  Betty 
Modish  ?  " 

"Lady  Betty  Modish!"  cried  Mabel j  "that  good, 
beautiful  face ! " 


MO  TEC    W'oFFINGTON. 

''Ah!"  cried  Sir  Charles, '•  I  sec  you  did  not.  Well, 
Lady  Betty  was  Mrs.  Wottingtoii ! " 

'<  VVliom  my  husbaiul,  T  know,  had  invited  here  to 
present  her  with  these  verses,  whiidi  I  shall  take  him  for 
her;"  and  her  poor  little  lip  trembled.  "  Had  the  visit 
been  in  any  other  eharaeter,  as  you  are  so  base,  so  cruel 
as  to  insinuate  (what  have  I  done  to  you  that  you  kill 
me  so,  you  wicked  gentleman  ?),  would  he  have  chosen 
the  day  of  my  arrival  ?  " 

"Not  if  he  knew  you  were  coming,"  was  the  cool 
reply. 

"  And  he  did  know  —  I  wrote  to  him." 

"Indeed!"  said  Pomander,  fairly  puzzled. 

^Irs.  Vane  caught  sight  of  her  handwriting  on  the  tray 
and  dai-ted  to  it,  and  seized  her  letter,  and  said  triumph- 
antly, — 

"  My  last  letter,  written  upon  the  njad  —  see  !  " 

Sir  Charles  took  it  with  surprise,  but,  turning  it  in 
his  hand,  a  cool,  satirical  smile  came  to  his  face.  He 
handed  it  back,  and  said  coldly,  — 

"  Read  me  the  passage,  madam,  on  which  you  argue." 

Poor  ^frs.  Vane  turned  the  lett(»r  in  her  hand,  and  her 
eye  became  instantly  glazed  :  the  seal  was  unbroken  ! 
She  gave  a  sharp  cry  of  agony,  like  a  wounded  deer. 
She  saw  Pomander  no  longer :  she  was  alone  with  her 
great  anguish.  "  I  had  but  my  husband  and  my  God  in 
the  world,"  cried  she.  ''  My  mother  is  gone.  My  God, 
have  pity  on  me  !  my  husband  does  not  love  me." 

The  cold  villain  was  startled  at  the  mighty  storm  his 
mean  hand  had  raised.  This  creature  had  not  only  more 
feeling,  but  more  passion,  than  a  hundred  libertines.  He 
muttered  some  villain's  commonplaces;  while  this  un- 
happy young  lady  raised  her  hands  to  heaven,  and 
sobbed  in  a  way  very  terrible  to  any  manly  heart. 

"  He   is   unworthy  you,"  muttered  Pomander.     "  He 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  141 

has  forfeited  your  love :  he  has  left  you  nothing  but 
revenge.  Be  comforted.  Let  me,  who  have  learned 
already  to  adore  you  "  — 

"So,"  cried  she,  turning  on  him  in  a  moment  (for  on 
some  points  woman's  instinct  is  the  lightning  of  wis- 
dom), "  this,  sir,  was  your  object  ?  I  may  no  longer 
hold  a  place  in  my  husband's  heart,  but  I  am  mistress  of 
his  house.  Leave  it,  sir,  and  never  return  to  it  whilst  I 
live." 

Sir  Charles,  again  discomfited,  bowed  reverentially. 
"  Your  wish  shall  ever  be  respected  by  me,  madam.  But 
here  they  come.  Use  the  right  of  a  wife.  Conceal 
3'^ourself  in  that  high  chair.  See,  I  turn  it,  so  that  they 
cannot  see  you.  At  least,  you  will  find  I  have  but  told 
you  the  truth." 

"  No  !  "  cried  Mabel  violently.  "  I  will  not  spy  upon 
my  husband  at  the  dictation  of  his  treacherous  friend." 

Sir  Charles  vanished.  He  was  no  sooner  gone  than 
Mrs.  Vane  crouched,  trembling  and  writhing  with  jeal- 
ousy, in  the  large,  high-backed  chair.  She  heard  her 
husband  and  the  soi-disant  Lady  Betty  Modish  enter. 
During  their  absence  Mrs.  Woffington  had  doubtless  been 
playing  her  cards  with  art,  for  it  appeared  that  a  recon- 
ciliation was  now  taking  place.  The  lady,  however,  was 
still  cool  and  distant.  It  was  poor  Mabel's  fate  to  hear 
these  words :  "  You  must  permit  me  to  go  alone,  Mr. 
Vane.     I  insist  upon  leaving  this  house  alone." 

On  this  he  whispered  to  her. 

She  answered,  "  You  are  not  justified," 

"  I  can  explain  all,"  was  his  reply.  "  I  am  ready  to 
renounce  credit,  character,  all  the  world  for  you." 

They  passed  out  of  the  room  before  the  unhappy  lis- 
tener could  recover  the  numbing  influence  of  these  deadly 
words. 

But  the  next  moment  she  started  wildly  up,  and  cried 


142  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

as  one  drowning  cries  vaguely  for  help,  "Ernest!  oh,  no 
—  no !  you  cannot  use  me  so  !  Ernest  —  husband  !  0 
mother  !  mother  ! " 

She  rose,  and  would  have  made  for  the  door,  hut  nature 
had  been  too  cruelly  tried.  At  the  first  step  she  could 
no  longer  see  anything  ;  and  the  next  moment  swooning 
dead  away,  she  fell  back  insensible,  with  her  head  and 
shoulders  resting  on  tlie  chair. 


PEG  WOFFINGTON.  143 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Mr.  Vane  was  putting  Mrs.  Woffiugton  into  her  chair, 
when  he  thought  he  heard  his  name  cried.  He  bade 
that  lady  a  mournful  farewell,  and  stepped  back  into  his 
own  hall.  He  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  he  heard  a 
voice,  the  accent  of  which  alarmed  him,  though  he  dis- 
tinguished no  word.  He  hastily  crossed  the  hall,  and 
flew  into  the  banquet-room.  Coming  rapidly  in  at  the 
folding-doors,  he  almost  fell  over  his  wife,  lying  insensi- 
ble, half  upon  the  floor,  and  half  upon  the  chair.  When 
he  saw  her  pale  and  motionless,  a  terrible  misgiving 
seized  him  :  he  fell  on  his  knees. 

"  Mabel,  Mabel !  "  cried  he,  "  my  love !  my  innocent 
wife  !  0  God !  what  have  I  done  ?  Perhaps  it  is  the 
fatigue  :  perhaps  she  has  fainted." 

"  No,  it  is  not  the  fatigue  ! "  screamed  a  voice  near 
him.  It  was  old  James  Burdock,  who,  with  his  white 
hair  streaming,  and  his  eye  gleaming  with  fire,  shook 
his  fist  in  his  master's  face.  "  No,  it  is  not  the  fatigue, 
you  villain  !  It  is  you  who  have  killed  her,  with  your 
Jezebels  and  harlots,  you  scoundrel ! " 

"  Send  the  women  here,  James,  for  God's  sake  ! " 
cried  Mr.  Vane,  not  even  noticing  the  insult  he  had 
received  from  a  servant.  He  stamped  furiously,  and 
cried  for  help.  The  whole  household  was  round  her  in 
a  moment.     They  carried  her  to  bed. 

The  remorse-stricken  man,  his  own  knees  trembling 
under  him,  flew,  in  an  agony  of  fear  and  self-reproach, 
for  a  doctor. 

A  doctor  ? 


144  I'EtJ    WOFFINCTON. 


CHAPTER   XIIL 

During  the  parden  scene  Mr.  Vaxie  had  begged  Mrs. 
Wottington  to  let  him  iwicompany  her.  She  peremptu- 
tily  refused,  and  said  in  the  same  breath  she  w;is  K*^>'"g 
to  TripU»t,  in  HfrcuU's  Huildiugs.  to  have  her  portrait 
finished. 

Had  Mr.  Vane  und»'rstood  the  sex,  ht*  would  not  have 
interpreted  her  refusal  to  the  letter,  when  there  was  a 
postscript.  th»'  meaninj:  of  wliich  was  so  little  enigmatical. 

Some  three  hours  after  the  sc'ene  we  have  described, 
Mrs.  Wottington  sat  in  Triplet's  apartment ;  and  Triplet, 
palette  in  hand,  painted  away  upon  lier  portrait. 

Mrs.  Wottington  was  in  that  l.inrjuid  state  which 
comes  to  wom^n  after  their  hearts  have  received  a  blow. 
She  felt  as  if  life  wiis  ended,  and  but  the  dregs  of 
existence  remained ;  but  at  times  a  flood  of  bitterness 
rolled  over  her,  and  she  resigned  all  hope  of  jierfect 
happiness  in  this  world,  all  hope  of  loving  and  respect- 
ing the  same  creature ;  and  at  these  moments  she  had 
but  one  idea,  —  to  use  her  own  power,  and  bind  her 
lover  to  her  by  chains  never  to  be  broken,  and  to  close 
her  eyes,  and  glide  down  the  precipice  of  the  future. 

"  I  think  you  are  master  of  this  art,"  said  she  very 
languidly  to  Triplet,  "you  paint  so  rapidly." 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  Triplet  gloomily,  and  painted  on, 
"Confound  this  shadow  !  "  added  he;  and  painted  on. 

His  soul,  too,  was  clouded.  Mrs.  Woffington,  yawning 
in  his  face,  had  told  him  she  had  invited  all  Mr.  Vane's 
company  to  come  and  praise  his  work ;  and  ever  since 
that  he  had  been  monie  et  silencieux. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  145 

"  You  are  fortunate,"  continued  ^Mrs.  Woffington,  not 
caring  -what  she  said,  "  it  is  so  difficult  to  make  execu- 
tion keep  pace  ^ith  conception." 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  "  and  he  painted  on. 

"  You  are  satisfied  with  it  ?  " 

"  Anything  but,  ma'am  ; "  and  he  painted  on. 

"  Cheerful  soul !  —  then  I  presume  it  is  like  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  ma'am  ;  "  and  he  painted  on. 

Mrs.  Woffington  stretched. 

"  You  can't  yawn,  ma'am  —  you  can't  yawn." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can.  You  are  such  good  company,"  and 
she  stretched  again. 

"I  was  just  about  to  catch  the  turn  of  the  lip,"  remon- 
strated Triplet. 

"  Well,  catch  it  —  it  won't  run  away." 

"  I'll  try,  ma'am.  A  pleasant  half-hour  it  will  be  for 
me,  when  they  all  come  here  like  cits  at  a  shilling  ordi- 
nary —  each  for  his  cut." 

"  At  a  sensitive  goose  ! " 

"That  is  as  may  be,  madam.  Those  critics  flay  us 
alive." 

"You  should  not  hold  so  many  doors  open  to  censure." 

"No,  ma'am.  Head  a  little  more  that  way.  I  suppose 
you  canH  sit  quiet,  ma'am  ?  —  then  never  mind  !  (This 
resignation  was  intended  as  a  stinging  reproach.)  Mr. 
Gibber,  with  his  sneering  snuff-box !  Mr.  Quiu,  with  his 
humorous  bludgeon  !  Mrs.  Clive,  with  her  tongue  !  Mr. 
Snarl,  with  his  abuse  I     And  Mr.  Soaper,  with  his  praise! 

—  arsenic  in  treacle  I  call  it.     But  there,  I  deserve  it 
all.     For  look  on  this  picture,  and  on  this." 

"Meaning,  I  am  painted  as  well  as  my  picture." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no  I     But  to  turn  from  your  face,  madam, 

—  on  which  the  lightning  of  expression  plays  continually, 

—  to  this  stony,  detestable,  dead  daub!     I  could — and  I 
will,  too !     Imposture !  dead  caricature  of  life  and  beauty, 

10 


146  PEG    WOKFINGTON. 

take  tluitl"  and  lie  (lushed  his  palette -knife  thron^'h  the 
canvas.  ''Libellous  lie  against  nature  ami  Mrs.  WOffing- 
ton,  take  that!"  and  he  stabbed  tlie  canv;us  again;  then, 
with  sudden  humility:  ''I  beg  your  pardDU,  ma'am," 
said  he,  "  for  this  aj)j»arent  outrage,  which  I  trust  you 
will  set  down  to  tlie  excitement  attendant  upon  failure. 
The  fact  is,  I  am  an  incapable  ass,  and  n«»  painter. 
Others  liave  often  hinted  as  much ;  but  I  never  observed 
it  myself  till  now." 

"Right  through  my  pet  dimple,"  said  Mrs.  Wottington, 
with  j)erfeet  nntirltalnnre.  "  Well,  now  I  suppose  I  may 
yawn,  or  do  wliat  I  like  '.*  " 

"You  may,  madam,"  said  Triplet,  gravely.  ''1  have 
forfeited  what  little  control  I  liad  over  you,  ma<lam." 

80  they  sat  opj)osite  each  other,  in  nu)urnful  silence. 
At  length,  the  actress  suddenly  rose.  She  struggled 
fiercely  against  her  depression,  and  vowed  that  melan- 
choly should  not  benumb  her  spirits  and  her  i)Ower. 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  h(>re  by  this  time,"  said  she 
to  herself.  "Well,  I  will  not  mope  for  him;  I  must  do 
something.     Triplet,"  said  she. 

"  Madam." 

"  Nothing." 

"No,  madam." 

She  sat  gently  down  again,  and  leaned  her  head  on  her 
hand,  and  thought.  She  was  beautiful  as  she  thought; 
her  body  seemed  bristling  with  mind.  At  last  her 
thoughtful  gravity  was  illumined  by  a  smile :  she  had 
thought  out  something  excogitaverat. 

"Triplet,  the  picture  is  quite  ruined!" 

"Yes,  ma'am.     And  a  coach-load  of  criticism  coming." 

"Triplet,  we  actors  and  actresses  have  often  bright 
ideas." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  When  we  take  other  people's." 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  147 

"Heyhe !"  went  Triplet.    "Those  are  our  best,  madam." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  got  a  bright  idea." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  ma'am  ! " 

"  Don't  be  a  brute,  dear,"  said  the  lady,  gravely. 

Triplet  stared. 

"When  I  was  in  France,  taking  lessons  of  Du'mesnil, 
one  of  the  actors  of  the  Theatre  FrauQais  had  his  portrait 
painted  by  a  rising  artist.  The  others  were  to  come  and 
see  it.  They  determined  beforehand  to  mortify  the  painter 
and  the  sitter  by  abusing  the  work  in  good  set  terms. 
But  somehow  this  got  wind,  and  the  patients  resolved  to 
be  the  physicians.  They  put  their  heads  together,  and 
contrived  that  the  living  face  should  be  in  the  canvas, 
surrounded  by  the  accessories  :  these,  of  course,  were 
painted.  Enter  the  actors,  who  played  their  little  pre- 
arranged farce ;  and  when  they  had  each  given  the  picture 
a  slap,  the  picture  rose  and  laughed  in  their  faces,  and 
discomfited  them.  By  the  by,  the  painter  did  not  stop 
there  ;  he  was  not  content  with  a  short  laugh,  he  laughed 
at  them  five  hundred  years." 

"  Good  gracious,  Mrs.  Woffington  ! " 

"  He  painted  a  picture  of  the  whole  thing ;  and  as  his 
work  is  immortal,  ours  an  April  snow-flake,  he  has  got 
tremendously  the  better  of  those  rash  little  satirists- 
Well,  Trip,  what  is  sauce  for  the  gander  is  sauce  for  the 
goose,  so  give  me  the  sharpest  knife  in  the  house." 

Triplet  gave  her  a  knife,  and  looked  confused,  while 
she  cut  away  the  face  of  the  picture,  and  by  dint  of 
scraping,  cutting,  and  measuring,  got  her  face  two  parts 
through  the  canvas.  She  then  made  him  take  his  brush 
and  paint  all  round  her  face,  so  that  the  transition  might 
not  be  too  abrupt.  Several  yards  of  green  baize  were 
also  produced.  This  was  to  be  disposed  behind  the  easel, 
so  as  to  conceal  her. 

Triplet  painted  here,  and  touched  and  retouched  there. 


1  IS  PK(;    WOFFFNGTON. 

Whilst  thus  occupied,  ho  said,  in  his  calm  resigned  way, 
'•  It  won't  do,  madam.     I  suppose  you  know  that?  " 

"I  know  nothing,''  was  the  reply.  "Life  is  a  guess. 
I  don't  think  we  could  deceive  Koxalana  and  Lucy  this 
way,  because  their  eyes  are  without  colored  spectacles ; 
but  when  people  have  once  begun  to  see  by  prejudices 
and  judge  by  jargon,  what  can't  be  done  with  them  ? 
Who  knows  '/  do  you  '.'     1  don't,  so  let  us  try." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  my  brush  touched  your 
face." 

"No  offence,  sir;  I  am  used  to  that.  And  I  beg,  if 
you  can't  tone  the  rest  of  the  picture  up  to  me,  that  you 
will  instantly  tone  me  down  to  the  rest.  Let  us  be  in 
tune,  whatever  it  costs,  sir." 

"I  will  avail  myself  of  the  privilege,  madam,  but 
sparingly.  Failure,  which  is  certain,  madam,  will  cover 
us  with  disgrace." 

"Nothing  is  certain  in  this  life,  sir,  except  that  you 
are  a  goose.  It  succeeded  in  France ;  and  England  can 
match  all  Europe  for  fools ;  besides,  it  will  be  well  done. 
They  say  Davy  Garrick  can  turn  his  eyes  into  bottled 
gooseberries.  Well,  Peg  Woffington  will  turn  hers  into 
blackcurrants.  Haven't  you  done  ?  I  wonder  they  have 
not  come.     Make  haste  !  " 

"  They  will  know  by  its  beauty  I  never  did  it." 

"That  is  a  sensible  remark.  Trip.  But  I  think  they 
will  rather  argue  backwards ;  that  as  you  did  it,  it  can- 
not be  beautiful,  and  so  cannot  be  me.  Your  reputation 
will  be  our  shield." 

"W^ell,  madam,  now  you  mention  it,  they  are  like 
enough  to  take  that  ground.  They  despise  all  I  do :  if 
they  did  not "  — 

"You  would  despise  them." 

At  this  moment  the  pair  were  startled  by  the  sound  of 
a  coach.     Triplet  turned  as  pale  as  ashes.     Mrs.  WoflRng- 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  149 

ton  had  her  misgivings ;  but  not  choosing  to  increase  the 
difficulty,  she  would  not  let  Triplet,  whose  self-possession 
she  doubted,  see  any  sign  of  emotion  in  her. 

"  Lock  the  door,"  said  she,  firmly,  "  and  don't  be  silly. 
Now  hold  up  my  green  baize  petticoat,  and  let  me  be  in 
a  half-light.  Now  put  that  table  and  those  chairs  before 
me,  so  that  they  can't  come  right  up  to  me ;  and.  Triplet, 
don't  let  them  come  within  six  yards,  if  you  can  help  it. 
Say  it  is  unfinished,  and  so  must  be  seen  from  a  focus." 

"  A  focus  !  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"No  more  do  I;  no  more  will  they,  perhaps;  and  if 
they  don't,  they  will  swallow  it  directly.  Unlock  the 
door ;  are  they  coming  ?  " 

"  They  are  only  at  the  first  stair." 

"  Mr.  Triplet,  your  face  is  a  book,  where  one  may  read 
strange  matters.  For  Heaven's  sake,  compose  yourself; 
let  all  the  risk  lie  in  one  countenance.  Look  at  me,  sir. 
Make  your  face  like  the  Book  of  Daniel  in  a  Jew's  back 
parlor.     Volto  Sciolto  is  your  cue." 

"  Madam,  madam,  how  your  tongue  goes !  I  hear 
them  on  the  stairs ;  pray  don't  speak  ! " 

"  Do  you  know  what  we  are  going  to  do  ?  "  continued 
the  tormenting  Peggy.  "  We  are  going  to  weigh  goose's 
feathers  !  to  criticise  criticism,  Trip  "  — 

"  Hush,  hush  !  " 

A  grampus  was  heard  outside  the  door,  and  Triplet 
opened  it.     There  was  Quin  leading  the  band. 

"  Have  a  care,  sir,"  cried  Triplet ;  "  there  is  a  hiatus 
the  third  step  from  the  door.'' 

"  A  gracilis  ad  Parnassum  a-wanting,"  said  Mr.  Gibber. 

Triplet's  heart  sank.  The  hole  had  been  there  six 
months,  and  he  had  found  nothing  witty  to  say  about  it, 
and  at  first  sight  Mr.  Cibber  had  done  its  business. 
And  on  such  men  he  and  his  portrait  were  to  attempt  a 
preposterous  delusion.     Then  there  was  Snarl,  who  wrote 


150  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 

critiques  on  painting,  and  guided  the  national  taste. 
The  unlucky  exhibitor  was  in  a  cold  sweat.  He  led  the 
way  like  a  thief  going  to  the  gallows. 

"The  picture  being  unfinished,  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
"  must,  if  you  would  do  me  justice,  be  seen  from  a  —  a 
focus  :  must  be  judged  from  here,  I  mean." 

"  Where,  sir  ?  "  said  Mr.  Gibber. 

"About  here,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said  poor  Triplet 
faintly. 

"  It  looks  like  a  finished  picture  from  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Olive. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  groaned  Triplet. 

They  all  took  up  a  position,  and  Triplet  timidly  raised 
his  eyes  along  with  the  rest :  he  was  a  little  surprised. 
The  actress  had  flattened  her  face !  She  had  done  all 
that  could  be  done,  and  more  than  he  had  conceived 
possible,  in  the  way  of  extracting  life  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  expression  from  her  countenance.  She  was 
"  dead  still !  " 

There  was  a  pause. 

Triplet  fluttered.  At  last  some  of  them  spoke  as 
follows : 

Soaper.     Ah ! 

Qiiin.     Ho ! 

Clive.     Eh ! 

Cibber.     Humph ! 

These  interjections  are  small  on  paper,  but  as  the  good 
creatures  uttered  them  they  were  eloquent ;  there  was  a 
cheerful  variety  of  dispraise  skilfully  thrown  into  each 
of  them. 

"  Well,"  continued  Soaper,  with  his  everlasting  smile. 

Then  the  fun  began. 

"  May  I  be  permitted  to  ask  whose  portrait  this  is  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Cibber  slyly. 

"I   distinctly  told  you,  it  was  to  be  Peg  Wofiing- 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  151 

ton's,"  said  Mrs.  Clive.  "I  think  you  might  take  my 
word." 

"  Do  you  act  as  truly  as  you  paint  ?  "  said  Quin. 

"Your  fame  runs  no  risk  from  me,  sir,"  replied 
Triplet. 

"  It  is  not  like  Peggy's  beauty !     Eh  ?  "  rejoined  Quin, 

"  I  can't  agree  with  you,"  cried  Kitty  Clive.  "  I  think 
it  a  very  pretty  face ;  and  not  at  all  like  Peg  WoflBng- 
ton's." 

"  Compare  paint  with  paint,"  said  Quin.  "  Are  you 
sure  you  ever  saw  down  to  Peggy's  real  face  ?  " 

Triplet  had  seen  with  alarm,  that  Mr.  Snarl  spoke  not ; 
many  satirical  expressions  crossed  his  face,  but  he  said 
nothing.  Triplet  gathered  from  this,  that  he  had  at 
once  detected  the  trick.  "  Ah !  "  thought  Triplet,  "  he 
means  to  quiz  them,  as  well  as  expose  me.  He  is  hang- 
ing back ;  and,  in  point  of  fact,  a  mighty  satirist  like 
Snarl  would  naturally  choose  to  quiz  six  people  rather 
than  two." 

"Now,  I  call  it  beautiful,"  said  the  traitor  Soaper. 
"  So  calm  and  reposeful ;  no  particular  expression." 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Snarl. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Triplet,  "does  it  never  occur  to 
you,  that  the  fine  arts  are  tender  violets,  and  cannot 
blow  when  the  north  winds  "  — 

"  Blow  !  "  inserted  Quin. 

"  Are  so  cursed  cutting  ?  "  continued  Triplet. 

"  My  good  sir,  I  am  never  cutting,"  smirked  Soaper. 
"  My  dear  Snarl,"  whined  he,  "  give  us  the  benefit  of 
your  practised  judgment.  Do  justice  to  this  ad-mirable 
work  of  art,"  drawled  the  traitor. 

"I  will!"  said  Mr.  Snarl,  and  placed  himself  before 
the  picture. 

"What  on  earth  will  he  say  ?"  thought  Triplet.  "I 
can  see  by  his  face,  he  has  found  us  out." 


152  i'i:<;   wofi'incjton. 

Mr.  Snarl  dtlivcnHl  a  short  oritique.  Mr.  Snarl's 
intelligeure  was  not  continfil  to  liis  phrases;  all  critics 
use  intelligent  phrases  and  philosophical  truths.  But 
this  gentleman's  manner  was  very  intelligent;  it  was 
pleasant,  ([uiet,  assurerl,  and  very  convincing.  Had  the 
reader  or  1  been  there,  he  would  have  carried  us  with 
him,  as  he  did  his  hearers  ;  and  as  his  successors  carry 
the  public  with  them  now. 

''  Your  brush  is  by  no  means  destitute  of  talent,  Mr. 
Triplet,"  said  Mr.  Snarl.  "  But  you  are  somewhat 
deficient,  at  present,  in  the  great  principles  of  your  art ; 
the  fir.st  of  which  is  a  loyal  adherence  to  truth.  Beauty 
itself  is  but  one  of  the  forms  of  truth,  and  nature  is 
our  finite  exponent  of  infinite  truth." 

His  auditore  gave  him  a  marked  attention.  They 
could  not  but  acknowledge,  that  men  who  go  to  the 
bottom  of  things  like  this  should  be  the  best  instruct- 
ors. 

"  Now,  in  nature,  a  woman's  face  at  this  distance  — 
ay,  even  at  this  short  distance — melts  into  the  air. 
There  is  none  of  that  shari>ness ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
a  softness  of  outline."  He  made  a  lorgnette  of  his  two 
hands  ;  the  others  did  so  too,  and  found  they  saw  much 
better  —  oh,  ever  so  much  better  !  "  Whereas,  yours," 
resumed  Snarl,  ''  is  hard ;  and,  forgive  me,  rather  tea- 
board  like.  Then  your  chioro-scvro,  my  good  sir,  is  very 
defective;  for  instance,  in  nature,  the  nose  intercepting 
the  light  on  one  side  the  face,  throws,  of  necessity,  a 
shadow  under  the  eye.  Caravaggio,  Venetians  generally, 
and  the  Bolognese  masters,  do  particular  justice  to  this. 
No  such  shade  appears  in  this  portrait." 

"  'Tis  so,  stop  my  vitals !  "  observed  CoUey  Gibber. 
And  they  all  looked,  and  having  looked,  wagged  their 
heads  in  assent  —  as  the  fat,  white  lords  at  Christie's 
waggle  fifty  pounds  more  out  for  a  copy  of  Rembrandt, 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  153 

a  brown  levitical  Dutclimaii,  visible  in  the  pitch-dark  by 
some  sleight  of  sun  Xewton  had  not  wit  to  discover. 

Soaper  dissented  from  the  mass. 

"But,  my  dear  Snarl,  if  there  are  no  shades,  there  are 
lights,  loads  of  lights."' 

"  There  are,"  replied  Snarl ;  "  onl}'  thej^  are  impossible, 
that  is  all.  You  have,  however,"  concluded  he,  with  a 
manner  slightly  supercilious,  "  succeeded  in  the  mechani- 
cal parts  :  the  hair  and  the  dress  are  well,  Mr.  Triplet ; 
but  your  Woffington  is  not  a  woman,  nor  nature." 

They  all  nodded  and  waggled  assent;  but  this  saga- 
cious motion  was  arrested  as  by  an  earthquake. 

The  picture  rang  out,  in  the  voice  of  a  clarion,  an 
answer  that  outlived  the  speaker :  "  She's  a  woman,  for 
she  has  taken  four  men  in !  She's  nature,  for  a  fluent 
dunce  doesn't  know  her  when  he  sees  her ! " 

Imagine  the  tableau  !  It  was  charming !  Such  open- 
ing of  eyes  and  mouths  I  Gibber  fell  by  second  nature 
into  an  attitude  of  the  old  comedy.  And  all  were 
rooted  where  they  stood,  with  surprise  and  incipient 
mortification,  except  Quin,  who  slapped  his  knee,  and 
took  the  trick  at  its  value. 

Peg  Woffington  slipped  out  of  the  green  baize,  and 
coming  round  from  the  back  of  the  late  picture,  stood  in 
jDerson  before  them  ;  while  they  looked  alternately  at 
her  and  at  the  hole  in  the  canvas.  She  then  came  at 
each  of  them  in  turn,  inore  dramatico. 

"  A  pretty  face,  and  not  like  Woffington.  I  owe  you 
two.  Kate  Clive." 

'■  TTho  ever  saw  Peggy's  real  face  ?  Look  at  it  now, 
if  you  can,  without  blushing,  Mr.  Quin." 

Quin,  a  good-humored  fellow,  took  the  wisest  view  of 
his  predicament,  and  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"For  all  this,"  said  ]\[r.  Snarl  peevishly,  "I  maintain, 
upon  the  unalterable  principles  of  art  "  —    At  this  they 


154  PE(;    WOFFINGTON. 

all  burst  into  a  roar,  nut  sorry  to  shift  tht;  ridiculo. 
"  Goths  !  "  cried  Snarl  fiercely.  '*  Good-morning,  ladies 
and  ^,'entlenu'n,"  cried  Mr.  Snarl,  acec  intention,  "I  have 
a  criticisn»  to  write  of  last  night's  performance."  The 
laugh  died  away  to  a  quaver.  *•  I  siiull  sit  on  your 
pictures  one  day,  Mr.  Brush." 

*•  Don't  sit  on  tluMu  with  your  head  downwards,  or 
you'll  addle  them,''  said  Mr.  Brush,  fiercely.  This  was 
the  first  time  Triplet  had  ever  answered  a  foe.  Mrs. 
Wottington  gave  him  an  eloquent  glance  of  encourage- 
ment. He  nodded  his  head  in  infantine  exultation  at 
what  he  had  done. 

"Come,  Soaper,"  said  Mr.  Snarl. 

Mr.  Soaper  lingered  one  moment  to  say  :  ••  ^'ou  shall 
always  have  my  good  word,  Mr.  Trijdet." 

"I  will  try  —  and  not  deserve  it,  Mr.  SoajKjr,"  was  the 
prompt  reply. 

"Serve  'em  right,"  said  Mr.  Cibl)er,  as  soon  as  the 
door  liad  closctl  ujKin  them,  "  for  a  couple  of  serpents, 
or  rather  one  boa-constrictor.  Soaper  slavers,  for  Snarl 
to  crush.  But  we  were  all  a  little  too  hard  on  Triplet 
here;  and  if  he  will  accept  my  apology"  — 

"Why,  sir,"  said  Triplet,  half  trembling,  but  driven 
on  by  looks  from  Mrs.  Woffington,  "'Gibber's  Apology' 
is  found  to  be  a  trifle  wearisome." 

"Confound  his  impertinence  I "  cried  the  astounded 
Laureate.     "Come  along,  Jemmy." 

"  Oh,  sir  I  "  said  Quin,  good  humoredly,  *'  we  must  give 
a  joke  and  take  a  joke.  And  when  he  paints  my  por- 
trait —  which  he  shall  do ''  — 

"  The  bear  from  Hockley  Hole  shall  sit  for  the  head ! " 

"  Curse  his  impudence  I "  roared  Quin.  "  I'm  at  your 
service,  ^Ir.  Gibber,"  added  he,  in  huge  dudgeon. 

Away  went  the  two  old  boys. 

"  Mighty  well  ! "   said  waspish   Mrs.  Glive.     "  I  did 


PEG    WOFFIXGTON.  155 

intend  you  should  have  painted  Mrs.  Clive.  But  after 
this  impertinence  "  — 

"  You  will  continue  to  do  it  yourself,  ma'am  ! " 

This  was  Triplet's  hour  of  triumph.  His  exultation 
was  undignified,  and  such  as  is  said  to  precede  a  fall. 
He  inquired  gravely  of  Mrs.  "Wofiington,  whether  he  had 
or  had  not  shown  a  spirit  ?  Whether  he  had  or  had  not 
fired  into  each  a  parting  shot,  as  they  sheered  off  ?  To 
repair  which,  it  might  be  advisable  for  them  to  put  into 
friendly  ports. 

"  Tremendous  !  "  was  the  reply.  "  And  when  Snarl 
and  Soaper  sit  on  your  next  play,  they  won't  forget  the 
lesson  you  have  given  them." 

"  I'll  be  sworn  thej'  won't  I "  chuckled  Triplet.  But 
reconsidering  her  words,  he  looked  blank,  and  muttered : 
"Then,  perhaps,  it  would  have  been  more  prudent  to  let 
them  alone  ! " 

''  Incalculably  more  prudent  I  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Then,  why  did  you  set  me  on,  madam  ?  "  said  Triplet, 
reproachfully. 

"  Because  I  wanted  amusement,  and  my  head  ached," 
was  the  cool  answer,  somewhat  languidly  given. 

"  I  defy  the  coxcombs  ! "  cried  Triplet,  with  re'S'iving 
spirit.  "  But  real  criticism  I  respect,  honor,  and  bow  to. 
Such  as  yours,  madam  ;  or  such  as  that  sweet  lady's  at 
Mr.  Yane's  would  have  been ;  or,  in  fact,  anybody's  who 
appreciates  me.  O  madam  !  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  was 
it  not  strange  your  not  being  at  Mr.  Yane's,  after  all, 
to-day  ?  " 

"  I  was  at  Mr.  Yane's,  Triplet." 

"  You  were  ?  TThy,  I  came  with  my  verses,  and  she 
said  you  were  not  there  !     I  will  go  fetch  the  verses." 

"  Xo,  no  !     Who  said  I  was  not  there  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  ?  The  charming  young  lady  who 
helped  me  Avith  her  own  hand  to  everything  on  the  table. 
What  wine  that  gentleman  possesses  ! " 


156  PEG    WOFFJLNGTON. 

"Was  it  ii  younjj:  lady,  Trij)let '.'" 

"Not  more  tliun  two-aiul-tweiity,  I  sliould  say.** 

"  In  a  travelling-dress  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  see  her  dress,  madam,  for  her  beauty  — 
brown  hair,  blue  eyes,  charming  in  conversation  "  — 

"  Ah  !     What  did  she  tell  you  ?  " 

"  She  told  me,  madam  —  ahem  ! " 

"Well,  what  did  you  tell  her?  and  what  did  she 
answer  ?  " 

"  I  told  her  that  I  came  with  verses  for  you,  ordered 
by  Mr.  Vaue.  That  he  admired  you.  1  descanted, 
madam,  on  your  virtues,  which  had  made  him  your 
slave." 

"Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Wottington,  encouraging  him  with 
a  deceitful  smile.     "Tell  me  all  you  told  her." 

"That  you  were  sitting  to  me  for  your  portrait,  the 
destination  of  which  was  not  doubtful.  That  I  lived  at 
10  Hercules  Buildings." 

"  You  told  that  lady  all  this  ?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  honor.  She  was  so  kind,  I  opened  my 
heart  to  her.  But  tell  me  now,  madam,"  said  Triplet, 
joyously  dancing  round  the  Wofhngtou  volcano,  •'  do  you 
know  this  charming  lady  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  madam.  An  acquaintance  worthy 
even  of  you  ;  and  there  are  not  many  such.  Who  is  she, 
madam  ?  "  continued  Triplet,  lively  with  curiosity. 

"  Mrs.  Vane,"  was  the  quiet,  grim  answer. 

"  Mrs.  Vane  ?  His  mother  ?  No  —  am  I  mad  ?  His 
sister  !     Oh  !  I  see,  his  "  — 

"  His  wife  ! " 

"  His  wife  !     Why,  then  Mr.  Vane's  married  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  look  there  !  —  oh,  look  here  now  !  Well,  but, 
good  heavens  !  she  wasn't  to  know  you  were  there, 
perhaps  ?  " 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  157 

"No." 

*'  But  then,  I  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  But,  good  gracious !  there  will  be  some  serious  mis- 
chief ! " 

''No  doubt  of  it." 

"  And  it  is  all  my  fault  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"I've  played  the  deuce  with  their  married  happiness  ?  " 

"Probably." 

"  And,  ten  to  one,  if  you  are  not  incensed  against  me, 
too  ?  " 

Mrs.  Woffington  replied  by  looking  him  in  the  face, 
and  turning  her  back  upon  him.  She  walked  hastily  to 
the  window,  threw  it  open,  and  looked  out  of  it,  leaving 
poor  Triplet  to  very  unpleasant  reflections.  She  was  so 
angry  with  him,  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"  Just  my  luck,"  thought  he.  "  I  had  a  patron  and  a 
benefactress  —  I  have  betrayed  them  both."  Suddenly 
an  idea  struck  him  :  "Madam,"  said  he,  timorously,  "see 
what  these  fine  gentlemen  are  !  What  business  had  he, 
with  a  wife  at  home,  to  come  and  fall  in  love  with  you  ? 
I  do  it  forever  in  my  plays  —  I  am  obliged  —  they  would 
be  so  dull  else  ;  but  in  real  life  to  do  it  is  abominable." 

"You  forget,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Woffington,  without 
moving,  "that  I  am  an  actress  —  a  plaything  for  the 
impertinence  of  puppies  and  the  treachery  of  hypocrites. 
Fool !  to  think  there  was  an  honest  man  in  the  world, 
and  that  he  had  shone  on  me  ! " 

With  these  words  she  turned,  and  Triplet  was  shocked 
to  see  the  change  in  her  face.  She  was  pale,  and  her 
black,  lowering  brows  were  gloomy  and  terrible.  She 
walked  like  a  tigress  to  and  fro,  and  Triplet  dared  not 
speak  to  her :  indeed,  she  seemed  but  half  conscious  of 
his   presence.      He  went  for  nobody  with  her.     How 


168  PEG    WOFFENGTON. 

little  we  know  the  people  we  eat,  and  go  to  church,  and 
flirt  witli  !  Triplet  hud  imagined  this  creature  an  incar- 
nation of  gayety,  a  sportive  being,  tlie  daughter  of  smiles, 
the  bride  of  mirth  ;  needed  but  a  look  at  her  now  to  see 
that  her  heart  was  a  vok-ano,  her  bosom  a  boiling  gulf 
of  fiery  lava.  She  walked  like  some  wild  errature  ;  she 
flung  her  hands  uj)  to  heaven  with  a  passionat(>  despair, 
before  which  the  feeble  spirit  of  her  companion  shrank 
and  cowered  ;  and  with  quivering  lips  and  blazing  eyes, 
she  burst  into  a  torn-iit  of  passionate  V)itternt'ss  : 

"  liut  who  is  Margaret  Wottington,''  she  cried,  "that 
she  should  pretend  to  honest  love,  or  feel  insulted  by  the 
proffer  of  a  stolen  regard  ?  And  what  have  we  to  do 
with  homes,  or  hearts,  or  firesides?  Have  we  not  the 
play-house,  its  paste  diamonds,  its  paste  feelings,  and 
the  loud  applause  of  fops  and  sots  —  hearts  ?  —  beneath 
loads  of  tinsel  and  paint  ?  Nonsense  !  The  love  that 
can  go  with  souls  to  heaven  —  such  love  for  us  ?  Non- 
sense !  These  men  applaud  us,  cajole  us,  swear  to  us, 
flatter  us  ;  and  yet,  forsooth,  we  would  have  them  respect 
us,  too." 

"My  dear  benefactress,"  said  Triplet,  "they  are  not 
worthy  of  you." 

'•  I  thought  this  man  was  not  all  dross  ;  from  the  first 
I  never  felt  his  passion  an  insult.  0  Triplet !  I  could 
have  loved  this  man  —  really  loved  him!  and  I  longed  so 
to  be  good.     O  God  !  0  God ! " 

"Thank  Heaven,  you  don't  love  him  !"  cried  Triplet, 
hastily.     "  Thank  Heaven  for  that !  " 

"  Love  him  ?  Love  a  man  who  comes  to  me  with  a 
silly  second-hand  affection  from  his  insipid  babj'-face, 
and  offers  me  half,  or  two-thirds,  or  a  third  of  his  worth- 
less heart  ?  I  hate  him  !  —  and  her  !  —  and  all  the 
world ! " 

"  That  is  what  I  call  a  very  proper  feeling,"  said  poor 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  159 

Triplet,  with  a  weak  attempt  to  soothe  her.  "  Then  break 
with  him  at  once,  and  all  will  be  well." 

"  Break  with  him  ?  Are  you  mad  ?  No  !  Since  he 
plays  with  the  tools  of  my  trade  I  shall  fool  him  worse 
than  he  ha,s  me.  I  will  feed  his  passion  full,  tempt  him, 
torture  him,  play  with  him,  as  the  angler  plays  a  fish 
upon  his  hook.  And  when  his  very  life  depends  on  me, 
then  by  degrees  he  shall  see  me  cool,  and  cool,  and 
freeze  into  bitter  aversion.  Then  he  shall  rue  the  hour 
he  fought  with  the  devil  against  my  soul,  and  played 
false  with  a  brain  and  heart  like  mine  !  " 

"  But  his  poor  wife  ?     You  will  have  pity  on  her  ?  " 

"His  wife  !  Are  wives'  hearts  the  only  hearts  that 
throb,  and  burn,  and  break  ?  His  wife  must  defend  her- 
self. It  is  not  from  me  that  mercy  can  come  to  her,  nor 
from  her  to  me.  I  loathe  her,  and  I  shall  not  forget 
that  you  took  her  part.  Only  if  you  are  her  friend,  take 
my  advice,  don't  you  assist  her.  I  shall  defeat  her  with- 
out that.     Let  her  fight  her  battle,  and  /  mine." 

"  Ah,  madam !  she  cannot  fight,  she  is  a  dove." 

"  You  are  a  fool !  What  do  you  know  about  women  ? 
You  were  with  her  five  minutes,  and  she  turned  you  in- 
side out.  My  life  on  it,  whilst  I  have  been  fooling  my 
time  here,  she  is  in  the  field,  with  all  the  arts  of  our  sex, 
simplicity  at  the  head  of  them." 

Triplet  was  making  a  futile  endeavor  to  convert  her 
to  his  view  of  her  rival,  when  a  knock  suddenly  came  to 
his  door.  A  slovenly  girl,  one  of  his  own  neighbors, 
brought  him  a  bit  of  paper,  with  a  line  written  in  pencil. 

"  'Tis  from  a  lady  who  waits  below,"  said  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Wofiington  went  again  to  the  window,  and  there 
she  saw  getting  out  of  a  coach,  and  attended  by  James 
Burdock,  Mabel  Vane,  who  had  sent  up  her  name  on  the 
back  of  an  old  letter. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  said  Triplet,  as  soon  as  he  recov- 


160  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

ered  the  first  stunning  effects  of  this  contretemps.  To 
liis  astonishment,  ^Irs.  Woffington  bade  the  girl  show 
the  lady  uji-stairs.     Tlie  girl  went  down  on  this  errand. 

"  But  you  are  here,"  remonstrated  Triplet.  "  Oh  I  to 
be  sure,  you  can  go  into  the  other  room.  There  is  plenty 
of  time  to  avoid  her,"  said  Trii)let,  in  a  very  natural 
tremor.     "  This  way,  matlam  !  " 

Mrs.  Woflington  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  like 
a  statue. 

"  What  does  she  come  here  for  ?  "  said  she,  sternly. 
"  You  have  not  told  me  all." 

"  I  don't  know,"  cried  poor  Triplet,  in  dismay,  "  and  I 
think  the  devil  brings  her  here  to  confound  me.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  retire  !  What  will  become  of  us  all  ? 
There  will  be  murder,  I  know  there  will !  " 

To  his  horror,  Mrs.  Wothngton  would  not  move. 
"  You  are  on  her  side,"  said  she,  slowly,  with  a  concen- 
tration of  spite  and  suspicion.  She  looked  frightful  at 
this  moment.  '•  All  tlie  better  for  me."  added  she,  with 
a  world  of  female  malignity. 

Triplet  could  not  make  head  aguinst  this  blow  ;  he 
gasped  and  pointed  piteously  to  the  inner  door.  *'  No  ; 
I  will  know  two  things ;  the  course  she  means  to  take, 
and  the  terms  you  two  are  upon." 

By  this  time  IVIrs.  Vane's  light  foot  was  heard  on  the 
stair,  and  Triplet  sank  into  a  chair.  "They  will  tear  one 
another  to  pieces,"'  said  he. 

A  tap  came  to  the  door. 

He  looked  fearfully  round,  for  the  woman  whom 
jealousy  had  so  speedily  turned  from  an  angel  to  a 
fiend ;  and  saw  with  dismay,  that  she  had  actually  had 
the  hardihood  to  slip  round  and  enter  the  picture  again. 
She  had  not  quite  arranged  herself  when  her  rival 
knocked. 

Triplet  dragged    himself   to    the   door.      Before    he 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  161 

opened  it,  he  looked  fearfully  over  his  shoulder,  and 
received  a  glance  of  cool,  bitter,  deadly  hostility,  that 
boded  ill  both  for  him  and  his  visitor.  Triplet's  appre- 
hensions were  not  unreasonable.  His  benefactress  and 
this  sweet  lady  were  rivals  ! 

Jealousy  is  a  dreadful  passion,  it  makes  us  tigers. 
The  jealous  always  thirst  for  blood.  At  any  moment, 
when  reason  is  a  little  weaker  than  usual,  they  are  ready 
to  kill  the  thing  they  hate,  or  the  thing  they  love. 

Any  open  collision  between  these  ladies  would  scatter 
ill  consequences  all  round.  Under  such  circumstances, 
we  are  pretty  sure  to  say  or  do  something  wicked,  silly, 
or  unreasonable.  But  what  tortured  Triplet  more  than 
anything  was  his  own  particular  notion,  that  fate  doomed 
him  to  witness  a  formal  encounter  between  these  two 
women ;  and  of  course  an  encounter  of  such  a  nature,  as 
we  in  our  day  illustrate  by  "  Kilkenny  cats." 

To  be  sure  Mrs.  Vane  had  appeared  a  dove,  but  doves 
can  peck  on  certain  occasions,  and  no  doubt  she  had  a 
spirit  at  bottom.  Her  coming  to  him  proved  it.  And 
had  not  the  other  been  a  dove  all  the  morning  and  after- 
.noon  ?  Yet  jealousy  had  turned  her  to  a  fiend  before 
his  eyes.  Then  if  (which  was  not  probable)  no  collision 
took  place,  what  a  situation  was  his  ?  Mrs.  Woffington 
(his  buckler  from  starvation)  suspected  him,  and  would 
distort  every  word  that  came  from  Mrs.  Vane's  lips. 

Triplet's  situation  was,  in  fact,  that  of  iEneas  in  the 
storm. 

"  Olim  et  hac  meminisse  juvabit "  — 
'♦  But  while  present,  such  things  don't  please  any  one  a  bit." 

It  was  the  sort  of  situation  we  can  laugh  at,  and  see  the 
fun  of  it  six  months  after,  if  not  shipwrecked  on  it  at 
the  time. 

With  a  ghastly  smile  the  poor  quaking  hypocrite  Wei- 
ll 


1G2  PEG    WOFFINQTON. 

coined  Mrs.  Vane,  and  professed  a  world  of  innocent  de- 
light, that  she  had  so  honored  his  humble  roof. 

She  interrupted  his  eoinplinients,  and  begged  him  to 
see  whether  she  was  followed  by  a  gentleman  in  a  cloak. 

Triplet  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"Sir  Charles  Pomander  I"  gasped  he. 

Sir  Charles  was  at  the  very  door.  If,  however,  he  had 
intended  to  mount  the  stairs  he  changed  his  mind,  for  he 
sutldenly  went  off  round  the  corner  with  a  business-like 
air,  real  or  fictitious. 

'•  He  is  gone,  njadam,"  said  Triplet. 

Mrs.  Vane,  the  better  to  escape  detection  or  observa^ 
tion,  wore  a  thick  mantle  and  a  hood,  that  conceah'd  her 
features.     Of  these  Triplet  debarrass«'d  her. 

"  Sit  down,  madam,"  and  he  hastily  drew  a  chair,  so 
that  her  back  wa.s  to  the  picture. 

She  was  pale,  and  trembled  a  little.  She  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands  a  moment,  then  recovering  lu'r  courage, 
''  she  begged  Mr.  Triplet  to  pardon  her  for  coming  to 
him.  He  hatl  inspired  her  with  confidence,"  she  said; 
''  he  had  offered  her  his  services,  and  so  she  had  come  to 
him,  for  she  had  no  other  friend  to  aid  her  in  her  sore 
distress."  She  might  have  added,  that  with  the  tact  of 
her  sex  she  had  read  Triplet  to  the  bottom,  and  came  to 
him,  as  she  would  to  a  benevolent  muscular  old  woman. 

Triplet's  natural  impulse  was  to  rejjeat  most  warmly 
his  offers  of  service.  He  did  so;  and  then  conscicnis  of 
the  picture  had  a  misgiving. 

"  Dear  ^fr.  Triplet,"  began  ^Irs.  Vane,  "you  know  this 
person,  Mrs.  Woffington  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  replied  Triplet,  lowering  his  eyes,  "  I 
am  honored  by  her  acquaintance." 

"  You  will  take  me  to  the  theatre  where  she  acts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam  :  to  the  boxes,  I  i)resume  ?  " 

"  No  !  oh,  no !  How  could  I  bear  that  ?  To  the  place 
where  the  actors  and  actresses  are." 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  163 

Triplet  demurred.  This  would  be  courting  that  very 
collision,  the  dread  of  which  even  now  oppressed  him. 

At  the  first  faint  sign  of  resistance  she  began  to  suppli- 
cate him,  as  if  he  was  some  great  stern  tyrant. 

"  Oh,  you  must  not,  you  cannot  refuse  me.  You  do 
not  know  what  I  risk  to  obtain  this.  I  have  risen  from 
my  bed  to  come  to  you.  I  have  a  fire  here !  "  She 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  brow.     "  Oh,  take  me  to  her ! " 

"Madam,  I  will  do  anything  for  you.  But  be  advised ; 
trust  to  my  knowledge  of  human  nature.  What  you 
require  is  madness.  Gracious  Heavens !  you  two  are 
rivals,  and  when  rivals  meet  there's  murder  or  deadly 
mischief." 

"  Ah !  if  you  knew  my  sorrow,  you  would  not  thwart 
me.  0  Mr.  Triplet!  little  did  I  think  you  were  as 
cruel  as  the  rest."  So  then  this  cruel  monster  whim- 
pered out,  that  he  should  do  any  folly  she  insisted  upon. 
"Good,  kind  Mr.  Triplet!"  said  Mrs.  Vane.  "Let  me 
look  in  your  face  ?  Yes,  I  see  you  are  honest  and  true. 
I  will  tell  you  all."  Then  she  poured  in  his  ear  her 
simple  tale,  unadorned  and  touching  as  Judah's  speech 
to  Joseph.  She  told  him  how  she  loved  her  husband ; 
how  he  had  loved  her ;  how  happy  they  were  for  the 
first  six  months  ;  how  her  heart  sank  when  he  left  her ; 
how  he  had  promised  she  should  join  him,  and  on  that 
hope  she  lived.  "  But  for  two  months  he  had  ceased  to 
speak  of  this,  and  I  grew  heart-sick  waiting  for  the  sum- 
mons that  never  came.  At  last  I  felt  I  should  die  if  I 
did  not  see  him ;  so  I  plucked  up  courage  and  wrote  that 
I  must  come  to  him.  He  did  not  forbid  me,  so  I  left 
our  country  home.  Oh,  sir !  I  cannot  make  you  know 
how  my  heart  burned  to  be  by  his  side.  I  counted  the 
hours  of  the  journey  ;  I  counted  the  miles.  At  last  I 
reached  his  house ;  I  found  a  gay  company  there.  I  was 
a  little  sorry,  but  I  said,  '  His  friends  shall  be  welcome, 

Yol.  9—6 


164  VKG    WOFFINC.TON. 

right  wplconip.  }lo  has  asked  thoin  to  welcome  his 
wife.' " 

"Poor  thing!"  muttered  Triph't. 

"O  Mr.  Trij)let !  they  were  there  to  do  honor  to  — 
And  the  wife  was  neither  expected  nor  desired.  There 
lay  my  letters  with  their  seals  unbroken.  I  know  all 
his  letters  by  heart,  Mr.  Trij)let.  The  seals  unbroken  — 
unbroken  !     Mr.  Tri])let." 

**  It  is  abominable  !  "  cried  Triplet,  iiercely. 

"And  she  who  sat  in  my  seat  —  in  his  house,  and  in  his 
heart  —  was  this  lady,  the  actress  you  so  praised  to  me  ?  " 

"That  lady,  ma'am,"  said  Triplet,  "has  been  deceived 
as  well  as  you." 

"I  am  convinced  of  it,"  said  Mabel. 

"And  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  tell  you,  madam,  that 
with  all  her  talents  and  sweetness,  she  has  a  fiery  tem- 
per; yes,  a  very  fiery  temper,"  continued  Triplet,  stoutly, 
though  with  an  uneasy  glance  in  a  certain  direction; 
"and  I  have  rea.son  to  believe  she  is  angry,  and  thinks 
more  of  her  own  ill-usage  than  yours.  Don't  you  go 
near  her.  Trust  to  my  knowledge  of  the  sex,  madam ;  I 
am  a  dramatic  writer.  Did  you  ever  read  the  'Rival 
Queens '  ?  " 

"No." 

"I  thought  not.  Well,  madam,  one  stabs  the  other, 
and  the  one  that  is  stabbed  says  things  to  the  other  that 
are  more  biting  than  steel.  The  prudent  course  for  you 
is  to  keep  apart,  and  be  always  cheerful,  and  welcome 
him  with  a  smile  —  and  —  have  you  read  'The  Way  to 
Keep  Him  ?  '  " 

"No,  iSIr.  Triplet,"  said  Mabel,  firmly,  "I  cannot  feign. 
Were  I  to  attempt  talent  and  deceit,  I  should  be  weaker 
than  I  am  now.  Honesty  and  right  are  all  my  strength. 
I  will  cry  to  her  for  justice  and  mercy.  And  if  I  cry  in 
vain,  I  shall  die,  Mr.  Triplet,  that  is  all." 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  165 

"  Don't  cry,  dear  lady,"  said  Triplet,  iu  a  broken  voice. 

"It  is  impossible!"  cried  slie,  suddenly.  "I  am  not 
learned,  but  I  can  read  faces.  I  always  could,  and  so 
could  my  Aunt  Deborah  before  me.  I  read  you  right, 
Mr.  Triplet,  and  I  have  read  her  too.  Did  not  my  heart 
warm  to  her  amongst  them  all  ?  There  is  a  heart  at  the 
bottom  of  all  her  acting,  and  that  heart  is  good  and  noble." 

"  She  is,  madam  !  she  is  !  and  charitable  too.  I  know 
a  family  she  saved  from  starvation  and  despair.  Oh, 
yes  !  she  has  a  heart  —  to  feel  for  the  poor  at  all  events." 

"  And  am  I  not  the  poorest  of  the  poor  ?  "  cried  Mrs. 
Vane.  "  I  have  no  father  nor  mother,  Mr.  Triplet ;  my 
husband  is  all  I  have  in  the  world  —  all  I  had,  I  mean." 

Triplet,  deeply  affected  himself,  stole  a  look  at  Mrs. 
Woffington.  She  was  pale ;  but  her  face  was  composed 
into  a  sort  of  dogged  obstinacy.  He  was  disgusted  with 
her.  "  Madam,"  said  he,  sternly,  "  there  is  a  wild  beast 
more  cruel  and  savage  than  wolves  and  bears ;  it  is  called 
'  a  rival,'  and  don't  you  get  in  its  way." 

At  this  moment,  in  spite  of  Triplet's  precaution,  Mrs. 
Vane,  casting  her  eye  accidentally  round,  caught  sight  of 
the  picture,  and  instantly  started  up,  crying :  "  She  is 
there  ! "  Triplet  was  thunderstruck.  "  What  a  like- 
ness ! "  cried  she,  and  moved  towards  the  supposed  pict- 
ure. 

"  Don't  go  to  it ! "  cried  Triplet,  aghast ;  "  the  color  is 
wet." 

She  stopped ;  but  her  eye,  and  her  very  soul,  dwelt 
upon  the  supposed  picture ;  and  Triplet  stood  quaking, 
"  How  like  !  It  seems  to  breathe.  You  are  a  great 
painter,  sir.     A  glass  is  not  truer." 

Triplet,  hardly  knowing  what  he  said,  muttered  some- 
thing about  ''  critics,  and  lights  and  shades." 

"  Then  they  are  blind ! "  cried  Mabel,  never  for  a 
moment  removing  her  eye  from  the  object.     "Tell  me 


166  PEG    WOFFINGTON. 

not  of  lights  and  shades.  The  pictures  I  see  have  a  look 
of  paint ;  but  yours  looks  like  life.  Oh  !  that  she  were 
hero,  as  this  wonderful  image  of  hers  is.  I  would  sp»*ak 
to  her.  I  am  not  wise  or  learned;  but  orators  never 
pleaded  as  I  would  ])lead  to  her  for  my  Ernest's  heart." 
Still  her  eye  glanced  upon  the  picture ;  and,  I  suppose, 
her  heart  realized  an  actual  presence,  though  her  juilg- 
ment  did  not,  for  by  some  irresistible  impulse  she  sank 
slowly  down  and  stretched  her  clasped  hands  towards  it, 
while  sobs  and  words  seemed  to  break  direct  from  her 
bursting  heart.  "Oh,  yes!  you  are  beautiful,  you  are 
gifted,  and  the  eyes  of  thousands  wait  ujion  your  every 
word  and  look.  What  wonder  that  he,  ardent,  refined, 
and  genial,  should  lay  his  heart  at  your  feet '.'  And  1 
have  nothing  but  my  love  to  make  him  love  me.  1  can- 
not take  him  from  you.  Oh,  be  generous  to  the  weak  ! 
oh,  give  him  back  to  me !  What  is  one  heart  more  to 
you  *.'  Vou  are  so  rich,  and  I  am  so  poor,  that  without 
his  love  T  have  nothing,  and  can  do  nothing  but  sit  me 
down  and  cry  till  my  heart  breaks.  Give  him  back  to 
me,  beautiful,  terrible  woman  !  for,  with  all  your  gifts, 
you  cannot  love  him  as  his  poor  Mabel  does ;  and  I  will 
love  you  longer  perhaps  than  men  can  love.  1  will  kiss 
your  feet,  and  Heaven  above  will  bless  you  ;  and  I  will 
bless  you  and  pray  for  you  to  my  dying  day.  Ali  I  it  is 
alive  !  I  am  frightened  !  I  am  frightened  !  "  She  ran 
to  Triplet,  and  seized  his  arm.  "Xol"  cried  she,  quiv- 
ering close  to  him;  "I'm  not  frightened,  for  it  was  for 
me  she  —  0  ^frs.  Woffington  ! "  and  hiding  her  face 
on  Mr.  Triplet's  shoulder,  she  blushed,  and  wept,  and 
trembled. 

What  was  it  had  betrayed  ]\[rs.  Woffington  ?     A  tear! 

During  the  whole  of  this  interview  (which  had  taken  a 
tiirn  so  unlooked  for  by  the  listener)  she  might  have 
said  with  Beatrice,  "  What  fire  is  in  mine  ears  ? "  and 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  167 

what  self-reproacli  and  chill  misgiving  in  her  heart  too. 
She  had  passed  through  a  hundred  emotions,  as  the  young 
innocent  wife  told  her  sad  and  simple  story.  But  anxious 
now  above  all  things  to  escape  without  being  recognized 
—  for  she  had  long  repented  having  listened  at  all,  or 
placed  herself  in  her  present  position,  she  fiercely  mas- 
tered her  countenance ;  but  though  she  ruled  her  features, 
she  could  not  rule  her  heart.  And  when  the  young  wife, 
instead  of  inveighing  against  her,  came  to  her  as  a  sup- 
plicant, with  faith  in  her  goodness,  and  sobbed  to  her  for 
pity,  a  big  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek,  and  proved  her 
something  more  than  a  picture  or  an  actress. 

Mrs.  Vane,  as  we  have  related,  screamed  and  ran  to 
Triplet. 

Mi'S.  Woffington  came  instantly  from  her  frame,  and 
stood  before  them  in  a  despairing  attitude,  with  one 
hand  upon  her  brow.  For  a  single  moment  her  impulse 
was  to  fly  from  the  apartment,  so  ashamed  was  she  of 
having  listened,  and  of  meeting  her  rival  in  this  way ; 
but  she  conquered  this  feeling,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw 
Mrs.  Vane  too  had  recovered  some  composure  she  said  to 
Triplet,  in  a  low  but  firm  voice  : 

"  Leave  us,  sir.  No  living  creature  must  hear  what  I 
say  to  this  lady  I  " 

Triplet  remonstrated,  but  Mrs.  Vane  said,  faiutl}' : 

"  Oh,  yes,  good  Mr.  Triplet,  I  would  rather  you  left 
me." 

Triplet,  full  of  misgivings,  was  obliged  to  retire. 

"Be  composed,  ladies,"  said  he,  piteously,  "Neither 
of  you  could  help  it ; "  and  so  he  entered  his  inner  room, 
where  he  sat  and  listened  nervously,  for  he  could  not 
shake  off  all  apprehension  of  a  pei'sonal  encounter. 

In  the  room  he  had  left,  there  was  a  long  uneasy 
silence.  Both  ladies  were  greatly  embarrassed.  It  was 
the  actress  who  spoke  first.     All  trace  of  emotion,  except 


168  PEG    WOFFINCTON. 

;i  certain  pallor,  was  drivon  from  Iter  face.  She  spolcp 
with  very  marked  courtesy,  hut  in  tones  that  seemed  to 
freeze  as  they  dropped  one  by  one  from  her  mouth. 

**  I  trust,  madam,  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe 
I  did  not  know  Mr.  Vane  was  married  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it  I  "  said  Mabel  warmly.  "  I  feel  you 
are  as  good  as  you  are  gifted." 

''  Mrs.  Vane,  I  am  not!  "  said  the  other,  almost  sternly. 
*'  You  are  ileceived  !  " 

''  Then  Heaven  have  mercy  on  me  !  No  I  I  am  not 
deceived,  you  pitied  me.  You  speak  coldly  now ;  but  T 
know  your  face  and  your  heart  —  you  pity  me  ! " 

"I  do  respect,  admire,  and  pity  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington,  sadly ;  '•  and  I  could  consent  never  more  to 
communicate  with  your  —  with  Mr.  Vane." 

*' Ah  ! "  cried  Mabel;  "Heaven  will  bless  you!  Hut 
will  you  give  me  back  his  heart  ?  " 

*'  How  can  I  do  that  ?  "  said  .Mrs.  Woffington,  uneasily; 
she  had  not  bargained  for  this. 

"  Thf  magnet  can  repel  as  well  as  attract.  Can  you 
not  break  your  own  spell  ?  What  will  his  presence  be 
to  me,  if  his  heart  remain  behind?  " 

"  You  ask  much  of  me." 

"Alas!  I  do." 

"  But  I  could  do  even  this."  She  paused  for  breath. 
"And  perhaps  if  you,  who  have  not  only  touched  my 
heart,  but  won  my  respect,  were  to  say  to  me  '  Do  so,'  I 
should  do  it."  Again  she  paused,  and  spoke  with  diffi- 
culty;  for  the  bitter  struggle  took  away  her  breath. 
"  Mr.  Vane  thinks  better  of  me  than  I  deserve.     I  have 

—  only  —  to  make  him  believe  me  —  worthless  —  worse 
than  I  am  —  and  he  will  drop  me  like  an  adder  —  and 
love  you  better,  far  better  —  for  having  known  —  admired 

—  and  despised  Margaret  Woffington." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Mabel,  "  I  shall  bless  you  every  hour  of 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  169 

/ 

my  life."  Her  countenance  brightened  into  rapture  at 
the  picture,  and  Mrs.  Woffington's  darkened  with  bitter- 
ness as  she  watched  her. 

But  Mabel  reflected.  "  Rob  you  of  your  good  name  ?  " 
said  this  pure  creature.  "  Ah,  Mabel  Vane  !  you  think 
but  of  yourself." 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,"  said  Mrs.  Wofiington,  a  little 
touched  by  this  unexpected  trait ;  "  but  some  one  must 
suffer  here,  and  "  — 

Mabel  Vane  interrupted  her,  "  This  would  be  cruel 
and  base,"  said  she,  firmly,  "  no  woman's  forehead  shall 
be  soiled  by  me.  0  madam !  beauty  is  admired,  talent 
is  adored ;  but  virtue  is  a  woman's  crown.  With  it,  the 
poor  are  rich  :  without  it,  the  rich  are  poor.  It  walks 
through  life  upright,  and  never  hides  its  head  for  high 
or  low." 

Her  face  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel  now;  and  the 
actress,  conquered  by  her  beauty  and  her  goodness,  act- 
ually bowed  her  head  and  gently  kissed  the  hand  of  the 
country  wife  whom  she  had  quizzed  a  few  hours  ago. 

Frailty  paid  this  homage  to  virtue  ! 

Mabel  Vane  hardly  noticed  it ;  her  eye  was  lifted  to 
heaven,  and  her  heart  was  gone  there  for  help  in  a  sore 
struggle. 

"  This  would  be  to  assassinate  you  ;  no  less.  And  so, 
madam,"  she  sighed,  "  with  God's  help,  I  do  refuse  your 
offer ;  choosing  rather,  if  needs  be,  to  live  desolate,  but 
innocent — many  a  better  than  I  hath  lived  so  —  ay!  if 
God  wills  it,  to  die,  with  my  hopes  and  my  heart  crushed, 
but  my  hands  unstained ;  for  so  my  humble  life  has 
passed." 

How  beautiful,  great  and  pure  goodness  is  !  It  paints 
heaven  on  the  face  that  has  it ;  it  wakens  the  sleeping 
souls  that  meet  it. 

At  the  bottom  of  Margaret  Woffington's  heart  lay  a 


170  rK(.    WUFFINGTON. 

soul,  unknown  to  the  world,  scarce  known  to  herself  —  a 
heavenly  harp,  on  which  ill  airs  of  jxussion  had  heen 
I)layf(l  —  but  still  it  was  there,  in  tune  with  all  that  is 
true,  pure,  really  great  ami  jjood.  And  now  the  flush 
that  a  }»reat  heart  sends  to  the  brow,  to  herald  great 
lU'tions,  came  to  her  check  and  brow. 

"  Humble ! "  she  cried.  "Such  as  you  are  the  diamonds 
of  our  race.  You  angel  of  truth  and  goo<lness,  you  have 
conquered ! " 

'•  ( )h,  yes  !  yes  !     Thank  (lod,  yes  I  " 

•What  a  ticnd  I  must  be,  could  I  injure  you!  The 
poor  heart  we  have  both  overrated  shall  be  yours  again, 
ami  yours  forever.  In  my  hands  it  is  painted  glass;  in 
the  lustre  of  a  love  like  yours  it  may  Income  a  jiricdess 
jewel."  She  turned  her  head  awuy  and  pondered  a 
moment,  then  suddenly  offered  to  Mrs.  Vane  her  hand 
with  nobleness  and  majesty ;  ''  Can  you  tnist  me  ?  "  The 
iictrcss  too  was  divinely  beautiful  now,  for  her  good  angel 
shone  through  her. 

"  I  could  trust  you  with  my  life  I "  was  the  reply. 

"  Ah !  if  I  might  call  ycni  friend,  dear  lady,  what 
would  I  not  do  —  suffer  —  resign  —  to  be  worthy  tliafc 
title  ! " 

"No,  not  friend!"  cried  the  warm,  innocent  Mabel; 
"sister!  I  will  call  you  sister.     I  have  no  sister." 

"Sister!"  said  Mrs.  Woffington.  "Oh,  do  not  mock 
me !  Alas !  you  do  not  know  what  you  say.  That 
sacred  name  to  me,  from  lips  so  pure  as  yours  —  Mrs. 
Vane,"  said  she,  timidly,  "  would  you  think  me  pre- 
sumptuous if  I  begged  you  to  —  to  let  me  kiss  you?" 

The  words  were  scarce  spoken  before  Mrs.  Vane's 
arms  were  wreathed  round  her  neck,  and  that  innocent 
cheek  laid  sweetly  to  hers. 

Mrs.  "Woffington  strained  her  to  her  bosom,  and  two 
great  hearts,  whose  grandeur  the  world,  worshipper  of 


PEG    WOFFINGTON.  171 

charlatans,  never  discovered,  had  found  each  other  out 
and  beat  against  each  other.  A  great  heart  is  as  quick 
to  find  another  out  as  the  world  is  slow. 

Mrs.  Woffington  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears  and 
clasped  Mabel  tighter  and  tighter,  in  a  half-despairing 
way.  Mabel  mistook  the  cause,  but  she  kissed  her  tears 
away. 

"Dear  sister,"  said  she,  "be  comforted.  I  love  you. 
My  heart  warmed  to  you  the  first  moment  I  saw  you.  A 
woman's  love  and  gratitude  are  something.  Ah  !  you 
will  never  find  me  change.     This  is  for  life,  look  you." 

"  God  grant  it ! "  cried  the  other  poor  woman.  "  Oh, 
it  is  not  that,  it  is  not  that ;  it  is  because  I  am  so  little 
worthy  of  this.  It  is  a  sin  to  deceive  you.  I  am  not 
good  like  you.     You  do  not  know  me  ! " 

"  You  do  not  know  yourself  if  you  say  so ! "  cried 
Mabel ;  and  to  her  hearer  the  words  seemed  to  come 
from  heaven.  "  I  read  faces,"  said  Mabel.  "  I  read  yours 
at  sight,  and  you  are  what  I  set  you  down ;  and  nobody 
must  breathe  a  word  against  you,  not  even  yourself.  Do 
you  think  I  am  blind  ?  You  are  beautiful,  you  are  good, 
you  are  my  sister,  and  I  love  you  ! " 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  ! "  thought  the  other.  "  How 
can  I  resign  this  angel's  good  opinion  ?  Surely  Heaven 
sends  this  blessed  dew  to  my  parched  heart ! "  And  now 
she  burned  to  make  good  her  promise,  and  earn  this 
virtuous  wife's  love.  She  folded  her  once  more  in  her 
arms,  and  then  taking  her  by  the  hand,  led  her  ten- 
derly into  Triplet's  inner  room.  She  made  her  lie  down 
on  the  bed,  and  placed  pillows  high  for  her  like  a 
mother,  and  leaned  over  her  as  she  lay,  and  pressed  her 
lips  gently  to  her  forehead.  Her  fertile  brain  had 
already  digested  a  plan,  but  she  had  resolved  that  this 
pure  and  candid  soul  shoiild  take  no  lessons  of  deceit. 
"Lie  there,"  said  she,  "till  I  open  the  door,  and  then 


172  VKf;    WOFFINflTON. 

join  us.  Do  you  know  what  1  ain  j^oinpj  to  do  ?  T  am 
not  going  to  restoif  you  your  luisband's  heart,  but  to 
show  you  it  never  really  left  you.  You  road  faces ;  well, 
I  read  cirounistances.  Matters  are  not  as  you  thought," 
said  she,  with  all  a  woman's  tact.  "  I  cannot  explain, 
but  you  will  see."  She  then  gave  Mrs.  Trij)lct  peremptory 
orders  not  to  let  lu*r  charge  rise  from  the  bed  until  the 
preconcerted  signal. 

jNIrs.  Vane  was,  in  fact,  so  exhausted  by  all  she  had 
gone  throiigh,  that  she  was  in  no  condition  to  resist. 
She  cast  a  look  of  childlike  confidence  upon  her  t'ivk\ 
and  then  closed  her  eyes,  and  tried  not  to  tremble  all 
over  and  listen  like  a  frightened  hare. 

It  is  one  great  characteristic  of  genius  to  do  great 
things  with  little  things.  Taxton  could  see  that  so  small 
a  matter  as  a  gr«'en-house  could  be  dilated  into  a  crystal 
palace,  and  with  two  comnuui  nuiterials  —  glass  and  iron 
—  he  raised  the  palace  of  the  genii;  the  brightest  idea 
and  the  noblest  ornament  added  to  Europe  in  this  cent- 
ury, —  the  koh-i-nor  of  the  west.  Livy's  definition  of 
Archimedes  goes  on  the  same  ground. 

Peg  Wotfington  was  a  genius  in  her  way.  On  entering 
Triplet's  studio  her  eye  fell  upon  three  trifles  —  Mrs. 
Vane's  hood  and  mantle,  the  back  of  an  old  letter,  and 
Mr.  Triplet.  (It  will  be  seen  how  she  worked  these  slight 
materials.)  On  the  letter  was  written,  in  pencil,  simply 
these  two  words,  "^label  Vane."  Mrs.  Woffington  wrote 
above  these  words  two  more,  "Alone  and  uni)rotectpd.'' 
She  put  this  into  'Mr.  Trijdet's  hand,  and  bade  him  take 
it  down  stairs  and  give  it  Sir  Charles  Pomander,  whose 
retreat,  she  knew,  must  have  been  fictitious.  "  You  will 
find  him  round  the  corner,"  said  she,  "  or  in  some  shop 
that  looks  this  way."  Whilst  uttering  these  words  she 
had  put  on  Mrs.  Vane's  hood  and  mantle. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  173 

No  answer  was  returned,  and  no  Triplet  went  out  of 
the  door. 

She  turned,  and  there  he  was  kneeling  on  both  knees 
close  under  her. 

"Bid  me  jump  out  of  that  window,  madam;  bid  me 
kill  those  two  gentlemen,  and  I  will  not  rebel.  You  are 
a  great  lady,  a  talented  lady  ;  you  have  been  insulted, 
and  no  doubt  blood  will  flow.  It  ought  —  it  is  your  due ; 
but  that  innocent  lady,  do  not  compromise  her  I " 

"  0  Mr.  Triplet,  you  need  not  kneel  to  me.  I  do  not 
wish  to  force  you  to  render  me  a  service.  I  have  no 
right  to  dictate  to  you." 

''  Oh,  dear  ! "  cried  Triplet,  "  don't  talk  in  that  way.  I 
owe  you  my  life,  but  I  think  of  your  own  peace  of  mind, 
for  you  are  not  one  to  be  happy  if  you  injure  the  inno- 
cent ! "  He  rose  suddenly,  and  cried :  "  Madam,  promise 
me  not  to  stir  till  I  come  back  ! " 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  bring  the  husband  to  his  wife's  feet,  and  so  save 
one  angel  from  despair,  and  another  angel  from  a  great 
crime." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  are  wiser  than  I,"  said  she.  "  But 
if  you  are  in  earnest,  you  had  better  be  cjuick,  for  some- 
how I  am  rather  changeable  about  these  people." 

"  You  can't  help  that,  madam,  it  is  your  sex  ;  you  are 
an  angel.  May  I  be  permitted  to  kiss  your  hand  ?  you 
are  all  goodness  and  gentleness  at  bottom.  I  fly  to  Mr. 
Vane,  and  we  will  be  back  before  you  have  time  to 
repent,  and  give  the  devil  the  upper  hand  again,  my 
dear,  good,  sweet  lady  !  " 

Away  flew  Triplet,  all  unconscious  that  he  was  not 
Mrs.  Woflington's  opponent,  but  puppet.  He  ran,  he 
tore,  animated  by  a  good  action,  and  spurred  by  the 
notion  that  he  was  in  direct  competition  with  the  fiend 
for  the  possession  of  his  benefactress. 


174  rv.r,  woffinoton. 

He  had  no  soonor  turned  the  cornor,  than  ^Frs.  WoflRng- 
ton  looking  out  of  the  window  ob.s«'rv«'d  Sir  Charles 
Pomander  on  the  watch,  as  she  had  expected.  She 
remained  at  the  window  with  Mrs.  Vane's  hood  on,  until 
Sir  Charles's  eye  in  its  wanderings  lighted  on  her,  and 
then  drojiping  Mrs.  Vane's  letter  from  the  window  she 
hastily  withdrew. 

Sir  ('harles  eagerly  picked  it  up.  His  eye  brightened 
when  he  reatl  the  short  contents.  With  a  self-satisfied 
smih'  he  mounted  the  stair.  He  found  in  Trij)let'8  house 
a  lady,  who  seemed  startled  at  her  late  hardihood.  She 
sat  with  her  hack  to  tin-  door,  her  IkmmI  drawn  tightly 
down,  and  wore  an  air  of  trembling  consciousness.  Sir 
Charles  smiled  again.  He  knew  the  sex,  at  least  he 
said  so.  (It  is  an  assertion  often  ventured  upon.) 
Accordingly  Sir  Charles  determined  to  come  down  from 
his  height  and  court  nature  and  innocence  in  their  own 
tones.  This  he  rightly  judged  must  be  the  proper  course 
to  take  with  Mrs.  Vane.  He  fell  down  with  mock  ardor 
upon  one  knee. 

The  sui)j)osed  Mrs.  Vane  gave  a  little  sfpieak. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Vane,"  cried  he,  "be  not  alarmed;  loveli- 
ness neglected,  and  simjilicity  deceived,  insure  respect  as 
well  as  adoration.     Ah  ! ''  (a  sigh.) 

"Oh,  get  up,  sir;  do,  please.     Ah  I"  (a  sigh.) 

"You  sigh,  sweetest  of  human  creatures.  Ah!  w^hy 
did  not  a  nature  V\kv  yours  fall  into  hands  that  would 
have  cherished  it  as  it  deserves  ?  Had  Heaven  bestowed 
on  me  this  hand,  which  T  take  "  — 

"  Oh.  please,  sir  '*  — 

"  With  the  profoundest  respect,  would  I  have  aban- 
doned such  a  treasure  for  an  actress?  —  a  Wottington  ! 
as  artificial  and  hollow  a  jade  as  ever  winked  at  a  side 
box ! " 

"  Is  she,  sir  ?  " 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  175 

"Notorious,  madam.  Your  husband  is  the  only  man 
in  London  who  does  not  see  through  her.  How  different 
are  you !  Even  I,  who  have  no  taste  for  actresses,  found 
myself  revived,  refreshed,  ameliorated  by  that  engaging 
picture  of  innocence  and  virtue  you  drew  this  morning ; 
yourself  the  bright  and  central  figure.  Ah,  dear  angel ! 
I  remember  all  your  favorites,  and  envy  them  their  place 
in  your  recollections.     Your  Barbary  mare  "  — 

"  Hen,  sir  ! '[ 

"Of  course  I  meant  hen;  and  Gray  Gillian,  his  old 
nurse  "  — 

"  No,  no,  no  !  she  is  the  mare,  sir.     He  !  he  !  he  ! " 

"  So  she  is.     And  Dame  —  Dame  "  — 

"Best!" 

"  Ah !  I  knew  it.  You  see  how  I  remember  them  all. 
And  all  carry  me  back  to  those  innocent  days  which  fleet 
too  soon  —  days  when  an  angel  like  you  might  have 
weaned  me  from  the  wicked  pleasures  of  the  town,  to 
the  placid  delights  of  a  rural  existence  ! " 

"  Alas,  sir  !  " 

"  You  sigh.  It  is  not  yet  too  late.  I  am  a  convert  to 
you ;  I  swear  it  on  this  white  hand.  Ah !  how  can  I 
relinquish  it,  pretty  fluttering  prisoner  ?  " 

"  0  sir,  please  "  — 

"  Stay  awhile." 

"No;  please,  sir"  — 

"While  I  fetter  thee  with  a  worthy  manacle."  Sir 
Charles  slipped  a  diamond  ring  of  great  value  upon  his 
pretty  prisoner. 

"La,  sir,  how  pretty  ! "  cried  innocence. 

Sir  Charles  then  undertook  to  prove  that  the  lustre  of 
the  ring  was  faint,  compared  with  that  of  the  present 
wearer's  eyes.  This  did  not  suit  innocence;  she  hung 
her  head  and  fluttered,  and  showed  a  bashful  repugnance 
to  look  her  admirer  in  the  face.     Sir  Charles  playfully 


176  PEG    WOFFTNGTON. 

insisted,  and  Mrs.  Woffington  was  beginning  to  be  a 
little  at  a  loss,  when  suddenly  voices  were  heard  upon 
the  stairs. 

*^  My  husband !''  crifd  the  false  Mrs.  Vane,  and  in  a 
moment  she  rose,  and  darted  into  Triplet's  inner  apart- 
ment. 

Mr.  Vane  and  Mr.  Trijdet  were  talking  earnestly  as 
they  came  up  the  stair.  It  seems  the  wise  Triplet  had 
prepared  a  little  dramatic  scene  for  his  own  refreshment, 
as  well  as  for  the  ultimate  benefit  of  all  parties.  He 
had  persuaded  Mr.  Vane  to  accompany  him  by  warm, 
mysterious  promises  of  a  happy  denoumenf ;  and  now, 
having  conducted  that  gentleman  as  far  :us  his  door,  he 
was  heard  to  say,  — 

"  And  now,  sir,  you  shall  see  one  who  waits  to  forget 
grief,  suspicion,  — all,  in  your  arms.  Behold !  "  and  here 
he  flung  the  door  open. 

"  The  devil !  " 

"You  flatter  me,"  said  Pomander,  who  had  had  time 
to  recover  his  aplomb,  somewhat  shaken,  at  first,  by  Mr. 
Vane's  inopportune  arrival. 

Now  it  is  to  be  observed  that  IVfr.  Vane  had  not  long 
ago  seen  his  wife  lying  on  her  bed,  to  all  appearance 
incapable  of  motion. 

]Vrr.  Vane,  before  Triplet  could  recover  his  surprise, 
inquired  of  Pomander  why  he  had  sent  for  him.  "  And 
what,"  added  he,  "  is  the  grief,  suspicion,  I  am,  according 
to  Mr.  Triplet,  to  forget  in  your  arms  ?  " 

Mr.  Vane  added  this  last  sentence  in  rather  a  testy 
manner. 

"Why,  the  fact  is,"  began  Sir  Charles,  without  the 
remotest  idea  of  what  the  fact  was  going  to  be. 

"That  Sir  Charles  Pomander"  —  interrupted  Triplet. 

"  But  ]\Ir.  Triplet  is  going  to  explain,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
keenly. 


PEG    WOFFLNGTON.  177 

"Nay,  sir;  be  yours  tlie  pleasing  duty.  But  now  I 
think  of  it,"  resumed  Triplet,  "  why  not  tell  the  simple 
truth  ?  it  is  not  a  play.  She  I  brought  you  here  to  see 
was  not  Sir  Charles  Pomander ;  but "  — 

"I  forbid  you  to  complete  the  name  !  "  cried  Pomander. 

"  I  command  you  to  complete  the  name  ! "  cried  Vane. 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen !  how  can  I  do  both  ?  "  remon- 
strated Triplet. 

"  Enough,  sir  ! "  cried  Pomander.  "  It  is  a  lady's 
secret.     I  am  the  guardian  of  that  lady's  honor." 

"She  has  chosen  a  strange  guardian  of  her  honor!" 
said  Vane,  bitterly. 

"  Gentlemen  ! "  cried  poor  Triplet,  who  did  not  at  all 
like  the  turn  things  were  taking,  "I  give  you  my  word, 
she  does  not  even  know  of  Sir  Charles's  presence  here ! " 

"  Who  ?  "  cried  Vane,  furiously.  "  Man  alive  !  who 
are  you  speaking  of  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Vane." 

"  My  wife ! "  cried  Vane,  trembling  with  anger  and 
jealousy.     "  She  here  !  —  and  with  this  man  ?  " 

"  No  ! "  cried  Triplet.  "  With  me,  with  me  !  Not 
with  him,  of  course." 

"  Boaster ! "  cried  Vane,  contemptuously.  "  But  that 
is  a  part  of  your  profession." 

Pomander,  irritated,  scornfully  drew  from  his  pocket 
the  ladies'  joint  production,  which  had  fallen  at  his  feet 
from  Mrs.  Woffington's  hand.  He  presented  this  to  Mr. 
Vane,  who  took  it  very  uneasily ;  a  mist  swam  before  his 
eyes  as  he  read  the  words :  "  Alone  and  unprotected  — 
Mabel  Vane."  He  had  no  sooner  read  these  words  than 
he  found  he  loved  his  wife ;  when  he  tampered  with  his 
treasure,  he  did  not  calculate  on  another  seeking  it. 

This  was  Pomander's  hour  of  triumph.  He  proceeded 
coolly  to  explain  to  Mr.  Vane,  that  Mrs.  Woffington 
having  deserted  him  for  Mr.  Vane,  and  Mr.  Vane  his 
12 


178  VKC.    WOFFtNGTON. 

wife  for  Mrs.  Wotlington,  the  bereaved  parties  had. 
according  to  custom,  agreed  to  console  each  other. 

This  soothing  little  si>eech  was  interruj>ted  by  3fr. 
Vane's  sword  Hashing  suddenly  out  of  its  sheath;  while 
that  gentleman,  white  with  rage  and  jealousy,  luule  liim 
instantly  take  to  his  guard,  or  be  run  through  the  body 
like  some  noxious  animal. 

Sir  Cliarh's  drew  his  sword,  and  in  spite  of  Triplet's 
weak  interference,  half  a  dozen  passes  were  rapidly 
exchanged,  when  suddenly  the  door  of  the  inner  room 
opened,  and  a  lady  in  a  hood  pronounced,  in  a  voice 
which  wius  an  excellent  imitation  of  Mrs.  Vane's,  the 
word,  "  False  ! " 

The  combatants  lowered  their  jKjints. 

*'  You  hear,  sir  !  "  cried  Triplet. 

"  You  see,  sir  I  "  said  Pomander. 

"  Mabel !  wife  ! "  cried  Mr.  Vane,  in  agony.  "  Oh,  say 
this  is  not  true  I  oh,  say  that  letter  is  a  forgery  !  Say,  at 
least,  it  was  by  some  treachery  you  were  lured  to  this 
den  of  iniquity  !     Oh  I  speak  I " 

The  lady  silently  beckoned  to  some  person  inside. 

"  You  know  I  loved  you  !  you  know  how  bitterly  I 
repent  the  infatuation  that  brought  me  to  the  feet  of 
another ! '' 

The  lady  replied  not,  though  Vane's  soul  appeared  to 
hang  upon  her  answer.  But  she  threw  the  door  open, 
and  there  appeared  another  lady,  the  real  Mrs.  Vane  I 
Mrs.  Woffington  then  threw  otf  her  hood,  and  to  Sir 
Charles  Pomander's  consternation,  revealed  the  features 
of  that  ingenious  person,  who  seemed  born  to  outwit 
him. 

"  You  heard  that  fervent  declaration,  madam  ?  "  said 
she  to  Mrs.  Vane.  '•  I  present  to  you,  madam,  a  gentle- 
man, who  regrets  that  he  mistook  the  real  direction  of 
his  feelings.     And  to  you,  sir,"  continued  she,  with  great 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  179 

dignity,  "  I  present  a  lady  who  will  never  mistake  either 
her  feelings  or  her  duty." 

'•  Ernest,  dear  Ernest ! "  cried  Mrs.  Yane,  blushing,  as 
if  she  "was  the  culprit.  And  she  came  forward,  all  love 
and  tenderness. 

Her  truant  husband  kneeled  at  her  feet,  of  course. 
'•Xo!"  he  said,  rather  sternly.  "How  came  you  here, 
Mabel  ?  " 

••  Mrs.  Vane,"  said  the  actress,  "  fancied  you  had  mis- 
laid that  weather-cock,  your  heart,  in  Covent  Grarden, 
and  that  an  actress  had  seen  in  it  a  fit  companion  for  her 
own.  and  had  feloniously  appropriated  it.  She  came  to 
me  to  inquire  after  it.-' 

"  But  this  letter,  signed  by  you  ? "  said  Vane,  still 
addressing  Mabel. 

•'Was  written  by  me  on  a  paper  which  accidentally 
contained  ^Irs.  Vane's  name.  The  fact  is,  3tlr.  Vane,  I 
can  hardly  look  you  in  the  face.  I  had  a  little  wager 
with  Sir  Charles,  here  ;  his  diamond  ring,  which  you  may 
see  has  become  my  diamond  ring "'  —  a  horrible  wry  face 
from  Sir  Charles  —  '•  against  my  left  glove,  that  I  could 
bewitch  a  country  gentleman's  imagination,  and  make 
him  think  me  an  angel.  Unfortunately,  the  owner  of 
his  heart  appeared,  and.  like  poor  Mr.  Vane,  took  our 
play  for  earnest.  It  became  necessary  to  disabuse  her 
and  to  open  your  eyes.     Have  I  done  so  ?  " 

"  You  have,  madam,"  said  Vane,  wincing  at  each  word 
she  said.  But  at  last,  by  a  mighty  effort,  he  mastered 
himself,  and  coming  to  Mrs.  Woffington  with  a  quivering 
lip,  he  held  out  his  hand  suddenly  in  a  very  manly  way. 
"I  have  been  the  dupe  of  my  own  vanity."  said  he. 
"  and  I  thank  you  for  this  lesson."'  Poor  !Mrs.  WoflS-Ug- 
ton's  fortitude  had  well-nigh  left  her  at  this. 

"  Mabel,"  he  cried,  "  is  this  humiliation  any  punish- 
ment for  my  folly  ?  any  guarantee  for  my  repentance  ? 
Can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 


180  PEG    WOFKINGTON. 

"It  is  all  forgiven,  Ernest.  But,  oh!  yo\i  are  mis- 
taken." She  glided  to  Mrs.  Wothngton,  '•  Wliat  do  we 
not  owe  you,  sister  '.'  "  whispered  she. 

"  Nothing :  that  word  pays  all,"  was  the  reply.  She 
tlu'H  slipped  her  aildress  into  ^Irs.  Vane's  hand,  and, 
courtesying  to  all  the  company,  she  hastily  left  the  room. 

Sir  Charles  Pomander  followed  ;  but  he  was  not  quick 
enough ;  she  got  a  start,  and  piirposely  avoideil  him,  and 
for  three  days  neither  the  public  nor  private  friends  saw 
this  poor  woman's  face. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vane  prepared  to  go  also;  but  Mrs. 
Vane  would  thank  good  Mr.  Triplet  and  Mrs.  Triplet  for 
their  kindness  to  her. 

Triplet  the  benevolent  blushed,  wa.s  confused  and 
delighted,  but  suddenly  turning  somewhat  sorrowful,  he 
said,  "  Mr.  Vane,  madam,  made  use  of  an  expression 
which  caused  a  momentary  pang.  He  called  tliis  a  den 
of  iniquity.     Now  this  is  my  studio  !    But  never  mind." 

Mr.  Vane  asked  his  pardon  for  so  absurd  an  error,  and 
the  pair  left  Triplet  in  all  the  enjoyment  which  does 
come  now  and  then  to  an  honest  man,  whether  this  dirty 
little  world  will  or  not. 

A  coach  was  called,  and  they  went  home  to  Blooms- 
bury.  Few  words  were  said,  but  the  repentant  husband 
often  silently  pressed  this  angel  to  his  bosom ;  and  the 
tears  which  found  their  way  to  her  beautiful  eyelashes 
were  tears  of  joy. 

This  weakish,  and  consequently  villanous,  though 
not  ill-disposed,  person,  would  have  gone  down  to  Wil- 
loughby  that  night,  but  his  wife  had  great  good  sense. 
She  would  not  take  her  husband  off,  like  a  schoolboy 
caught  out  of  bounds.  She  begged  him  to  stay  while  she 
made  certain  purchases ;  but  for  all  that  her  heart 
burned  to  be  at  home.  So  in  less  than  a  week  after  the 
events  we  have  related,  thev  left  Loudon. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  181 

Meantime,  every  day  Mrs.  Vane  paid  a  quiet  visit  to 
Mrs.  Woffington  (for  some  days  the  actress  admitted  no 
other  visitor),  and  was  with  her  but  two  hours  before 
she  left  London.  On  that  occasion  she  found  her  very 
sad. 

"  I  shall  never  see  you  again  in  this  world,"  said  she, 
"but  I  beg  of  you  to  write  to  me,  that  my  mind  may  be 
in  contact  with  yours." 

She  then  asked  Mabel,  in  her  half-sorrowful,  half- 
bitter  way,  how  manj^  mouths  it  would  be  ere  she  was 
forgotten. 

Mabel  answered  by  quietly  crying.  So  then  they 
embraced ;  and  Mabel  assured  her  friend  she  was  not 
one  of  those  who  change  their  minds.  "  It  is  for  life, 
dear  sister ;  it  is  for  life,"  cried  she. 

"  Swear  this  to  me,"  said  the  other  almost  sternly. 
"  But  no.  I  have  more  confidence  in  that  candid  face 
and  pure  nature  than  in  a  human  being's  oath.  If  you 
are  happy,  remember  you  owe  me  something.  If  you 
are  unhappy,  come  to  me,  and  I  will  love  you  as  men 
cannot  love." 

Then  vows  passed  between  them,  for  a  singular  tie 
bound  those  two  women ;  and  then  the  actress  showed  a 
part  at  least  of  her  sore  heart  to  her  new  sister ;  and  that 
sister  was  surprised  and  grieved,  and  pitied  her  truly 
and  deeply,  and  they  wept  on  each  other's  neck ;  and  at 
last  they  were  fain  to  part.  They  parted ;  and  true  it 
was,  they  never  met  again  in  this  world.  They  parted 
in  sorrow ;  but  when  they  meet  again,  it  shall  be  with 

joy- 
Women  are  generally  such  faithless,  unscrupulous, 
and  pitiless  humbugs  in  their  dealings  with  their  own 
sex,  which,  whatever  they  may  say,  they  despise  at 
heart,  that  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  say  Mrs.  Vane 
proved  true  as  steel.     She  was  a  noble-minded,  simple- 


ISli  I'KC    WOFKINGTON. 

iniiuied  creature  :  slie  was  also  a  constant  creatnn-.    Con- 
stancy is  a  rare,  a  beautiful,  a  (iod-like  virtue. 

Four  tiyies  every  year  she  wrote  a  louj^'  letter  to  Mrs. 
Woffington,  and  twice  a  year,  in  the  cold  weather,  she 
sent  her  a  hanii)er  of  country  delicacies  that  would  have 
victualled  a  small  garris(»n.  And  when  her  sister  left 
this  earthly  scene  —  a  humble,  pious,  long-repentant 
Christian  —  Mrs.  Vane  wore  mourning  for  her,  and  sor- 
rowed over  her,  but  not  i\a  those  who  cannot  hope  to 
nnM't  again. 

My  story  as  a  work  of  art  —  good,  bad,  or  indifferent 
—  ends  with  that  last  sentence.  If  a  reader  ac(;ompa- 
nies  me  farther,  I  shall  feci  flattered,  anil  he  does  so  at 
his  own  risk. 

My  reader  knows  that  all  this  befell  long  ago  ;  that 
WotHngton  is  gay,  and  Triplet  sad  no  more  ;  that  Mabel's, 
and  all  the  bright  eyes  of  that  day,  have  long  been  dim, 
and  all  its  cunning  voices  hushed.  Judge,  then,  wln^ther 
I  am  one  of  those  happy  story-tellers  who  can  end  with 
a  wedding.  No !  this  story  must  wind  up,  as  yours  and 
mine  must  —  to-morrow  — or  to-morrow  —  or  to-morrow  ! 
when  our  little  sand  is  run. 

Sir  Charles  Pomander  lived  a  man  of  pleasure  until 
sixty :  he  then  became  a  man  of  pain.  He  dragged  the 
chain  about  eight  years,  and  died  miserably. 

^[r.  Cibber  not  so  much  died  as  "slipped  his  wind,"  — 
a  nautical  expression  that  conveys  the  idea  of  an  easy 
exit.  He  went  ofi  quiet  and  genteel.  He  was  past 
eighty,  and  had  lived  fast.  His  servant  called  him  at 
seven  in  the  morning.  "  I  will  shave  at  eight,''  said 
Mr.  Cibber.  John  brought  the  hot  water  at  eight ;  but 
his  master  had  taken  advantage  of  this  interval  in  his 
toilet,  to  die  !  —  to  avoid  shaving  ? 

Snarl  and   Soaper  conducted  the   criticism   of  their 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  183 

day  with  credit  and  respectability  until  a  good  old  age, 
and  died  placidly  a  natural  death,  like  twaddle,  sweet  or 
sour. 

The  Triplets,  while  their  j)atroness  lived,  did  pretty 
well.  She  got  a  tragedy  of  his  accepted  at  her  theatre. 
She  made  him  send  her  a  copy,  and  with  her  scissors  cut 
out  about  half ;  sometimes  thinning,  sometimes  cutting 
bodily  away.  But  lo  !  the  inherent  vanity  of  Mr.  Trip- 
let came  out  strong.  Submissively,  but  obstinately,  he 
fought  for  the  discarded  beauties.  Unluckily,  he  did 
this  one  day  that  his  patroness  was  in  one  of  her  bitter 
humors  ;  so  she  instantly  gave  him  back  his  manuscript, 
with  a  sweet  smile  owned  herself  inferior  in  judgment 
to  him,  and  left  him  unmolested. 

Triplet  breathed  freely  :  a  weight  was  taken  off  him. 
The  savage  steel  (he  applied  this  title  to  the  actress's 
scissors)  had  spared  his  purpurei  panni.  He  was  played, 
pure  and  intact,  —  a  calamity  the  rest  of  us  grumbling 
escape. 

But  it  did  so  happen  that  the  audience  were  of  the 
actress's  mind,  and  found  the  words  too  exuberant, 
and  the  business  of  the  play  too  scanty  in  proportion. 
At  last  their  patience  was  so  sorely  tried  that  they  sup- 
plied one  striking  incident  to  a  piece  deficient  in  facts. 
They  gave  the  manager  the  usual  broad  hint,  and  in  the 
middle  of  Triplet's  third  act  a  huge  veil  of  green  baize 
descended  upon  "  The  Jealous  Spaniard." 

Failing  here,  Mrs.  Woffington  contrived  often  to  be- 
friend him  in  his  other  arts,  and  moreover  she  often  sent 
Mr.  Triplet  what  she  called  a  snug  investment,  a  loan  of 
ten  pounds,  to  be  repaid  at  Doomsday,  with  interest  and 
compound  interest,  according  to  the  Scriptures ;  and 
although  she  laughed,  she  secretly  believed  she  was  to 
get  her  ten  pounds  back,  double  and  treble.  And  I 
believe  so  too. 


IHt  rVT,    WOFFINGTON. 

Some  years  later  Mrs.  Triplet  became  eventful.  She 
fell  ill.  and  lay  a-<lyinp ;  but  one  fin»^  morning,  after  all 
hope  had  l)eon  jLjivon  up.  she  suddenly  rosr  and  dressed 
herself.  She  was  quite  well  in  bo<ly  now,  but  in- 
sane. 

She  pontinucd  in  this  state  a  month,  and  then  by 
God's  niprcy  she  recovered  her  reason  ;  but  now  the  dis- 
ease fell  another  stop,  and  lighted  upon  Iht  temper, — a 
more  athletic  vixen  was  not  to  be  found.  She  had 
spoiled  Triplet  for  this  by  being  too  tame,  so  when  the 
fiispensation  came  they  sparred  daily.  They  were  now 
thoroughly  unhappy.  They  were  poor  as  ever,  and 
their  benefactress  was  dead,  and  they  had  learned  to 
snap.  A  spcculativi'  tour  had  taken  this  pair  to  Hristol, 
then  the  second  city  in  England.  They  sojourned  in  the 
suburbs. 

One  morning  the  postman  brought  a  letter  for  Triplet, 
who  was  showing  his  landlord's  boy  how  to  plant  onions. 
(N.H.  Triplet  had  never  ]>lanted  an  onion,  but  he  was 
one  of  your  a  priori  gentlemen,  and  could  show  anybody 
how  to  do  anything.)  Trij>let  held  out  his  hand  for  the 
letter,  but  the  postman  held  out  his  hand  for  half-a- 
crown  first.  Triji's  profession  had  transpired,  and  his 
clothes  inspired  diffidenee.  Triplet  appealed  to  his  good 
feeling. 

He  re])lied  with  exultation,  "That  he  had  none  left." 
(A  middle-aged  postman,  no  doubt.) 

Triplet  then  suddenly  started  from  entreaty  to  King 
Canibysps'  vein.     Tn  vain  ! 

Mrs.  Triplet  came  down,  and  essayed  the  blandish- 
ments of  the  softer  sex.  In  vain !  And  as  there  were 
no  assets,  the  postman  marched  off  down  the  road. 

Mrs.  Triplet  glided  after  him  like  an  assassin,  beckon- 
ing on  Triplet,  who  followed,  doubtful  of  her  designs. 
Suddenly  (truth  compels  me  to  relate  this)  she  seized  the 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.      '  185 

obdurate  official  from  behind,  pinned  both  his  arms  to 
his  side,  and  with  her  nose  furiously  telegraphed  her 

husband.  ,  ., 

He,  animated  by  her  example,  plunged  upon  the  man 
and  tore  the  letter  from  his  hand,  and  opened  it  before 

his  eyes.  .  i     i       i^^ 

It  happened  to  be  a  very  windy  mornmg,  and  when  he 
opened  the  letter  an  enclosure,  printed  on  much  finer 
paper,  was  caught  into  the  air,  and  went  down  the  wind. 
Triplet  followed  in  kangaroo  leaps,  like  a  dancer  making 

a  flying  exit.  ^     ,    i       a      « 

The  postman  cried  on  all  good  citizens  for  help,  borne 
collected  and  laughed  at  him;  Mrs.  Triplet  explaining 
that  they  were  poor,  and  could  not  pay  l^a:^^-^-^^^^^^^^ 
the  freight  of  half  an  ounce  of  paper.  She  held  him 
comnilsively  until  Triplet  reappeared. 

That  o-entleman  on  his  return  was  ostentatiously  calm 
and  dignified.  "  You  are,  or  were,  in  perturbation  about 
half-a-crown,"  said  he.  "There,  sir,  is  a  twenty-pound 
note:  oblige  me  with  nineteen  pounds,  seventeen  shil- 
lings and  sixpence.  Should  your  resources  be  unequal 
to  such  a  demand,  meet  me  at  the  '  Green  Cat  and  Brown 
rrogs,'  after  dinner,  when  you  shall  receive  your  hall- 
crown,  and  drink  another  upon  the  occasion  of  my  sudden 
accession  to  unbounded  affluence." 

The  postman  was  staggered  by  the  sentence,  and  over- 
awed by  the  note,  and  chose  the  "  Cat  and  Frogs,  and 
liquid  half-crown. 

Triplet  took  his  wife  down  the  road  and  showed  her 
the  letter  and  enclosure.     The  letter  ran  thus  :  — 

Sir, -We  beg  respectfully  to  inform  you  tliat  our  late 
friend  and  client!  James  Triplet,  Merchant,  of  the  Mmones, 
died  last  August,  without  a  will,  and  that  you  are  his  heir. 

His  property  amounts  to  about  twenty  thousand  pounds 
besides  some  reversions.     Having  possessed  the  confidence  of 


ISC  VVM    WOKFINCTON. 

your  liito  iiiitlr,  Wf  shoiilfl   fiM-l   lioiKiri-il  udiI  jjratilii'il   if  you 
should  think  us  worthy  to  net  profi'ssioniilly  for  yourself. 

We  em-lose  twenty  pnun<ls,  anil  \w^  you  will  <lr:iw  ujKin  us 
as  fur  as  five  thousanil  pounds,  uhuuld  you  have  immediaU) 
occauion. 

\Vf  are,  sir, 

Vour  humble  servants. 

.Iamks  am»  .John  Ai.i.mitt. 

It  w;is  some  time,  helure  these  ehiUlreii  of  misfortune 
could  realize  this  enormous  stroke  of  eompensatiou ;  but, 
ut  last,  it  workt'd  its  way  int<»  their  spirits,  and  they 
bejjaii  to  siiiLT.  tn  triumiili.  and  ilaiire  u}M»n  the  kinii's 
highway. 

Mrs.  'Irijiiit  was  tiie  tirst  to  pause,  and  taki'  Itetter 
views.  '•  < )  .lames!"  she  cried,  "we  have  suffered 
much  I  we  liave  b«'en  j)oor,  but  h«Jiiest,  and  the  Almighty 
has  looked  upon  us  at  last ! " 

Then  they  began  to  reproach  themselves. 

"  0  James  I  I  have  been  a  peevish  woman  —  an  ill 
wife  to  you,  this  ujany  years  !" 

*'  No,  no !  "  cried  Triplet,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  It 
is  I  who  liave  been  rough  and  bnital.  I'overty  tried  u.s 
too  hard;  but  we  were  not  like  the  rest  of  them  —  we 
were  always  faithful  to  the  altar.  And  the  Ahnighty 
has  seen  us,  though  we  often  doubted  it." 

"  I  never  doubted  that,  James." 

So  then  the  poor  things  fell  on  their  knees  upon  the 
public  road,  and  tluuiked  God.  If  any  man  had  seen 
them,  he  would  have  said  they  were  mad.  Yet  madder 
things  are  done  every  day,  by  gentlemen  with  faces  as 
grave  as  tlie  parish  bull's.  And  then  they  rose,  and 
formed  their  little  plans. 

Triplet  was  for  devoting  four-fifths  to  charity,  and 
living  like  a  prince  on  the  remainder.  But  Mrs.  Triplet 
thought  the  poor  were  entitled  to  no  more  than  two- 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  187 

thirds,  and  they  themselves  ought  to  bask  in  a  third,  to 
make  up  for  what  they  had  gone  through ;  and  then 
suddenly  she  sighed,  and  burst  into  tears.  "  Lucy ! 
Lucy  ! "  sobbed  she. 

Yes,  reader,  God  had  taken  little  Lucy  !  And  her 
mother  cried  to  think  all  this  wealth  and  comfort  had 
come  too  late  for  her  darling  child. 

"  Do  not  cry.  Lucy  is  richer,  a  thousand  times,  than 
you  are,  with  your  twenty  thousand  pounds." 

Their  good  resolutions  were  carried  out,  for  a  wonder. 
Triplet  lived  for  years,  the  benefactor  of  all  the  loose 
fish  that  swim  in  and  round  theatres ;  and  indeed  the 
unfortunate  seldom  appealed  to  him  in  vain.  He  now 
predominated  over  the  arts,  instead  of  climbing  them. 
In  his  latter  day,  he  became  an  oracle,  as  far  as  the 
science  of  acting  was  concerned  ;  and,  what  is  far .  more 
rare,  he  really  got  to  know  something  about  it.  This  was 
owing  to  two  circumstances :  first,  he  ceased  to  run 
blindfold  in  a  groove  behind  the  scenes ;  second,  he 
became  a  frequenter  of  the  first  row  of  the  pit,  and  that 
is  where  the  whole  critic,  and  two-thirds  of  the  true 
actor,  is  made. 

On  one  point,  to  his  dying  day,  his  feelings  guided  his 
judgment.  He  never  could  see  an  actress  equal  to  his 
Woffington.  Mrs.  Abington  was  grace  personified,  but 
so  was  Woffington,  said  the  old  man.  And  Abington's 
voice  is  thin,  Woffington's  was  sweet  and  mellow.  AVhen 
Jordan  rose,  with  her  voice  of  honey,  her  dewy  freshness, 
and  her  heavenly  laugh,  that  melted  in  along  with  her 
words,  like  the  gold  in  the  quartz.  Triplet  was  obliged 
to  own  her  the  goddess  of  beautiful  gayety :  but  still  he 
had  the  last  word :  "  Woffington  was  all  she  is,  except 
her  figure.  Woffington  was  a  Hebe  —  your  Nell  Jordan 
is  little  better  than  a  dowdy." 

Triplet  almost  reached  the  present  century.    He  passed 


188  PFXl    WOFFINGTON. 

through  great  events,  but  they  did  not  excite  him  ;  his 
eye  was  niion  the  arts.  When  Napoleon  drew  his  con- 
(juerinK  sword  on  Knj,'land,  Triplet's  rem:uk  \v;is  :  *•  Now 
we  shall  ho  driven  u|>(jn  native  talent,  tliank  Heaven!" 
The  storms  of  KurojK'  shook  not  Triplet.  Tlie  fact  is, 
nothing  that  happened  on  the  great  stagr  of  the  world 
seemed  real  to  him.  He  believed  in  nothing,  where  there 
was  no  cnrtain  visible.  Hut  even  the  grotesfjue  are  not 
good  in  vaiti.  Many  an  e\e  was  wrt  round  his  dying 
bed,  and  many  a  tear  fell  ui>on  his  grave.  He  made  his 
final  exit  in  tln^  year  of  graoe  1799.  And  1,  wli«i  laugh 
.tt  him,  would  h-ave  this  world  to-<lay,  to  be  with  him  ; 
for  1  am  tossing  at  sea —  he  is  in  port. 

A  straightforward  character  lik*'  Mabel's  becomes  a 
firm  character  with  yiars.  Long  rrv  she  was  forty,  her 
hand  gently  but  steailily  ruled  \Villou;^'hby  House  —  and 
all  in  it.  She  and  Mr.  Vane  lived  very  happily ;  he  g;ive 
her  no  fresh  cause  for  uneasiness.  Six  months  after 
their  return,  she  told  him  what  burned  in  that  honest 
heart  of  hers,  the  truth  al)out  Mrs.  AVottington.  The 
water  rushed  to  his  eyes,  but  his  heart  was  now  wholly 
his  wife's ;  and  gratitude  to  Mrs.  Woilington  for  her 
noble  conduct,  was  the  f)nly  sentiment  awakened. 

'*  You  must  repay  her,  dearest,"  said  he.  "  I  know  you 
love  her,  and  until  to-day  it  gave  me  pain ;  now  it  gives 
me  pleasure.     We  owe  her  mucli.'' 

The  happy  innocent  life  of  Mabel  Vane  is  soon  summed 
up.  Frank  as  the  day,  constant  as  the  sun,  pure  as  the 
dew,  she  passed  the  golden  years  preparing  herself  and 
others  for  a  still  brighter  eternity.  At  home,  it  was  she 
who  warmed  and  cheered  the  house,  and  the  hearth,  more 
than  all  the  Christmas  fires.  Abroad,  she  shone  upon 
the  poor  like  the  sun.  She  led  her  beloved  husband  by 
the  hand  to  heaven.     She  led  her  children  the  same  road; 


PEG    WOFriNGTON.  189 

and  she  was  leading  her  grandchildren  when  the  angel 
of  death  came  for  her,  and  she  slept  in  peace. 

Many  remember  her.  For  she  alone,  of  all  our  tale, 
lived  in  this  present  century ;  but  they  speak  of  her  as 
"old  Madam  Vane,"  her  whom  we  knew  so  young  and 
fresh. 

She  lies  in  Willoughby  Church  —  her  mortal  part;  her 
spirit  is  with  the  spirits  of  our  mothers  and  sisters, 
reader,  that  are  gone  before  us  ;  with  the  tender  mothers, 
the  chaste  wives,  the  loyal  friends,  and  the  just  women 
of  all  ages.     Resukget. 

I  come  to  her  last,  Avho  went  first;  but  I  could  not 
have  stayed  by  the  others,  when  once  I  had  laid  my 
darling  asleep.  It  seemed  for  awhile  as  if  the  events  of 
our  tale  did  her  harm ;  but  it  was  not  so  in  the  end. 

Not  many  years  afterwards,  she  was  engaged  by  Mr. 
Sheridan,  at  a  very  heavy  salary,  and  went  to  Dublin. 
Here  the  little  girl,  who  had  often  carried  a  pitcher  on 
her  head  down  to  the  Liffey,  and  had  played  Polly 
Peachum  in  a  booth,  became  a  lion ;  dramatic,  political, 
and  literary,  and  the  centre  of  the  Avit  of  that  wittiest  of 
cities. 

But  the  Dublin  ladies  and  she  did  not  coalesce.  They 
said  she  was  a  naughty  woman,  and  not  fit  for  them 
morally.  She  said  they  had  but  two  topics,  "  silks  and 
scandal,"  and  were  unfit  for  her  intellectually. 

This  was  the  saddest  part  of  her  history.  But  it  is 
darkest  just  before  sunrise.  She  returned  to  London. 
Not  long  after,  it  so  happened,  that  she  went  to  a  small 
church  in  the  city  one  Sunday  afternoon.  The  preacher 
was  such  as  we  have  often  heard ;  but  not  so  this  poor 
woman,  in  her  day  of  sapless  theology,  ere  John  Wesley 
waked  the  snoring  church.  Instead  of  sending  a  dry 
clatter  of  morality  about  their  ears,  or  evaporating  the 


190  PEG   WOFFINGTON. 

Bible  in  the  thin  generalities  of  the  pulpit,  this  man 
drove  God's  truths  home  to  the  hearts  of  men  and 
women.  In  his  hands  the  divine  virtues  were  thunder- 
bolts, not  swans'  down.  With  good  sense,  plain  speak- 
ing, and  a  heart  yearning  for  the  souls  of  his  brethren 
and  his  sisters,  he  stormed  the  bosoms  of  many ;  and 
this  afternoon,  as  he  reasoned  like  Paul  of  righteousness, 
temperance,  and  judgment  to  come,  sinners  trembled  — 
and  Margaret  Woffington  was  of  those  who  trembled. 

After  this  day,  she  came  ever  to  the  narrow  street 
where  shone  this  house  of  God ;  and  still,  new  light 
burst  upon  her  heart  and  conscience.  Here  she  learned 
why  she  was  unhappy ;  here  she  learned  how  alone  she 
could  be  happy ;  here  she  learned  to  know  herself ;  and 
the  moment  she  knew  herself,  she  abhorred  herself,  and 
repented  in  dust  and  ashes. 

This  strong  and  straightforward  character  made  no 
attempt  to  reconcile  two  things  that  an  average  Christian 
would  have  continued  to  reconcile.  Her  interest  fell  in 
a  moment  before  her  new  sense  of  right.  She  flung  her 
profession  from  her  like  a  poisonous  weed. 

Long  before  this  Mrs.  Vane  had  begged  her  to  leave 
the  stage.  She  had  replied  that  it  was  to  her  what  wine 
is  to  weak  stomachs.  ''But,"  added  she,  "do  not  fear 
that  I  will  ever  crawl  down-hill,  and  unravel  my  own 
reputation ;  nor  will  I  ever  do  as  I  have  seen  others  — 
stand  groaning  at  the  wing,  to  go  on  giggling,  and  come 
off  gasping.  No !  the  first  night  the  boards  do  not  spring 
beneath  my  feet,  and  the  pulse  of  the  public  beat  under 
my  hand,  I  am  gone.  Next  day,  at  rehearsal,  instead  of 
Woffington,  a  note  will  come,  to  tell  the  manager  that 
henceforth  Wofiington  is  herself  —  at  Twickenham,  or 
Richmond,  or  Harrow-on-the-Hill  —  far  from  his  dust, 
his  din,  and  his  glare  —  quiet,  till  God  takes  her :  amidst 
grass  and  flowers  and  charitable  deeds." 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  191 

This  day  had  not  come ;  it  was  in  the  zenith  of  her 
charms  and  her  fame,  that  she  went  home  one  night, 
after  a  play,  and  never  entered  a  theatre,  by  front  door 
or  back  door,  again.  She  declined  all  leave-taking  and 
ceremony. 

"  When  a  publican  shuts  up  shop  and  ceases  to  diffuse 
liquid  poison,  he  does  not  invite  the  world  to  put  up  the 
shutters ;  neither  will  I.  Actors  overrate  themselves 
ridiculously,"  added  she ;  "  I  am  not  of  that  importance 
to  the  world,  nor  the  world  to  me.  I  fling  away  a  dirty 
old  glove  instead  of  soiling  my  fingers  filling  it  with 
more  guineas,  and  the  world  loses  in  me,  what  ?  another 
old  glove,  full  of  words ;  half  of  them  idle,  the  rest 
wicked,  untrue,  silly,  or  impure.  Rougissons,  taisons-nous, 
et  parto7is." 

She  now  changed  her  residence,  and  Avithdrew  politely 
from  her  old  associates,  courting  two  classes  only,  the 
good  and  the  poor.  She  had  always  supported  her  mother 
and  sister;  but  now  charity  became  her  system.  The 
following  is  characteristic  :  — 

A  gentleman  who  had  greatly  admired  this  dashing 
actress,  met  one  day,  in  the  suburbs,  a  lady  in  an  old 
black  silk  gown  and  a  gray  shawl,  with  a  large  basket 
on  her  arm.  She  showed  him  its  contents  —  worsted 
stockings  of  prodigious  thickness — which  she  was  carry- 
ing to  some  of  her  2ifoteges. 

"But  surely  that  is  a  waste  of  your  valuable  time," 
remonstrated  her  admirer.     "  Much  better  buy  them." 

"But,  my  good  soul,"  replied  the  representative  of  Sir 
Harry  Wildair,  "you  can't  buy  them.  Nobody  in  this 
wretched  town  can  knit  worsted  hose  except  Woffington." 

Conversions  like  this  are  open  to  just  suspicion,  and 
some  did  not  fail  to  confound  her  with  certain  great 
sinners,  who  have  turned  austere  self-deceivers  when  sin 
smiled  no  more.     But  this  was  mere  conjecture.     The 


192  PEG    WOKFINCITON. 

facts  were  clear,  and  speaking  to  the  contrary.  This 
woman  left  folly  at  its  brightest,  and  did  not  become 
austere ;  on  the  contrar}-,  though  she  laughed  less,  she 
was  ttbserved  to  snaile  far  oft<na'r  than  before.  She  was 
a  humble  and  penitent,  but  cheerful,  hopeful  Christian. 

Another  class  of  detractors  took  a  somewliat  opposite 
ground  ;  they  accused  her  of  bigotry,  for  advising  a  young 
female  frieiul  against  the  stage  as  a  business,  hut  let 
us  hear  herself.     This  is  what  she  said  to  the  girl :  — 

"At  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  always  loved  and 
honored  virtue.  Yft  the  tendencies  of  the  stage  so  com- 
pletely overcame  my  good  sentiments,  that  I  was  for 
years  a  worthless  woman.  It  is  a  situation  of  uncom- 
mon and  incessant  temptation.  Ask  youi'self,  ray  child, 
whether  tliere  is  notliing  else  you  ean  do  but  this.  It 
is,  I  think,  our  duty  and  our  wisdom  to  tly  temptation 
whenever  we  e:iu.  as  it  is  t<i  nsist  it  ulun  we  cannot 
escape  it." 

Was  this  the  tune  ot  bigotry  ".' 

Easy  in  fcjrtune,  penitent,  but  cheerful,  Mrs.  Woffing- 
tou  had  now  but  one  care;  to  efface  the  memory  of  her 
former  self,  and  to  give  as  many  years  to  purity  and 
piety,  as  had  gone  to  folly  and  frailty.  This  was  not  to 
be.  The  Almighty  did  not  permit,  or  perhaps  I  should 
say,  did  not  require  this. 

Some  unpleasant  symptoms  had  long  attracted  her 
notice,  but  in  the  bustle  of  her  profession  had  received 
little  attention.  She  was  now  persuaded  by  her  own 
medical  attendant  to  consult  Dr.  Bowdler,  who  had  a 
great  reputation,  and  had  been  years  ago  an  acquaintance 
and  an  admirer.  He  visited  her,  he  examined  her  by 
means  little  used  in  that  day,  and  he  saw  at  once  that 
her  days  were  numbered. 

Dr.  Bowdler's  profession  and  experience  had  not  steeled 
his  heart  as  they  generally  do  and  must  do.     He  could 


PEG   WOFFINGTON.  193 

not  tell  her  this  sad  news,  so  he  asked  her  for  pen  and 

paper,  and  said,  « I  will  write  a  prescription  to  Mr. ." 

He  then  wrote,  not  a  prescription,  but  a  few  lines,  beg- 
ging Mr. to  convey  the  cruel  intelligence  by  degrees, 

and  Avith  care  and  tenderness.     "It  is  all  we  can  do  for 
her,"  said  he. 

He  looked  so  grave  while  writing  the  supposed  pre- 
scription, that  it  unluckily  occurred  to  Mrs.  Woffington 
to  look  over  him.  She  stole  archly  behind  him,  and, 
with  a  smile  on  her  face,  read  her  death-warrant. 

It  was  a  cruel  stroke.  A  gasping  sigh  broke  from  her. 
At  this  Dr.  Bowdler  looked  up,  and  to  his  horror  saw  the 
sweet  face  he  had  doomed  to  the  tomb  looking  earnestly 
and  anxiously  at  him,  and  very  pale  and  grave.  He  was 
shocked,  and,  strange  to  say,  she,  whose  death-warrant 
he  had  signed,  ran  and  brought  him  a  glass  of  wine,  for 
he  was  quite  overcome.  Then  she  gave  him  her  hand  in 
her  own  sweet  way,  and  bade  him  not  grieve  for  her,  for 
she  was  not  afraid  to  die,  and  had  long  learned  that  "life 
is  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor,  poor  player,  who  frets  and 
struts  his  hour  upon  the  stage,  and  then  is  heard  no 
more." 

But  no  sooner  was  the  doctor  gone,  than  she  wept 
bitterly.  Poor  soul,  she  had  set  her  heart  upon  living 
as  many  years  to  God  as  she  had  to  the  world,  and  she 
had  hoped  to  wipe  out  her  former  self. 

« Alas ! "  she  said  to  her  sister,  "  I  have  done  more 
harm  than  I  can  ever  hope  to  do  good  now ;  and  my  long 
life  of  folly  and  wickedness  will  be  remembered,  will  be 
what  they  call  famous ;  my  short  life  of  repentance,  who 
will  know,  or  heed,  or  take  to  profit  ?  " 

But  she  soon  ceased  to  repine.  She  bowed  to  the  will 
of  Heaven,  and  set  her  house  in  order,  and  awaited  her 
summons.  The  tranquillity  of  her  life  and  her  courageous 
spirit  were  unfavorable  to  the  progress  of  disease,  and  I 


194  rr.r,   woffinhton. 

am  f,'l;ul  to  sjiy  slu-  w;is  iKriiiittrd  U)  live  lu^rly  three 
y«':irs  after  this,  and  these  tliree  years  were  the  happiest 
period  of  her  whoh'  life.  Works  of  piety  and  love  niado 
the  days  eventful.  She  was  at  lionie  now  —  she  ha<l 
never  hi'cn  at  honif  in  folly  and  loose  living.  All  her 
bitterness  was  gone  now,  with  its  cause. 

Reader,  it  was  with  her  as  it  is  with  many  an  autumn 
day:  clouds  darken  the  sun,  rain  and  wind  sweep  over 
all  —  till  day  declines.  Hut  then  comes  one  heavenly 
hour,  when  all  ill  things  seem  spent.  There  is  no  more 
wind,  no  more  rain.  The  great  sun  comes  forth  —  not 
fiiTV  l)right,  indeed,  hut  full  of  trantpiil  glory,  and  warms 
the  sky  witli  ruby  waves,  and  the  hearts  of  men  with 
hope,  as,  parting  with  us  for  a  little  space,  he  glides 
shiwly  and  p«':ieefully  to  rest. 

So  fan'd  it  witli  tliis  humble,  penitent,  and  now  happy 
Christian. 

A  part  of  her  «l«'sire  was  given  her.  She  lived  long 
enough  to  read  a  firm  recantation  of  her  former  self,  to 
show  tlie  world  a  great  repentance,  and  to  leave  upon 
indelible  record  one  more  proof,  what  alone  is  true 
wisdom,  and  where  alone  true  joys  are  to  be  found. 

She  endured  some  physical  pain,  as  all  must  who  die 
in  their  prime,  liut  this  never  wrung  a  sigh  from  her 
great  heart;  and  within  she  had  the  peace  of  God,  which 
passes  all  understanding. 

I  am  not  strong  enough  to  follow  her  to  her  last  hour, 
nor  is  it  needed ;  enougli  that  her  own  words  came  true. 
Wlien  tlie  great  summons  came,  it  found  her  full  of  hope 
and  peace  and  joy;  sojourning,  not  dwelling,  upon  earth, 
far  from  dust  and  din  and  vice ;  the  Bible  in  her  hand, 
the  Cross  in  her  heart;  quiet,  amidst  grass  and  flowers 
and  charitable  deeds. 

"XOM    OMNEM    MORITURAM." 


CHEISTIE    JOIINSTOlNrE^ 


Vol.  9—7 


OHEISTIE    JOHl^STOI^E. 


CHAPTER  T. 


Viscount  Ipsden,  aged  twenty-five,  income  eighteen 
thousand  pounds  per  year,  constitution  equine,  was  un- 
happy !  This  might  surprise  some  people ;  but  there 
are  certain  blessings,  the  non-possession  of  which  makes 
more  people  discontented  than  their  possession  renders 
happy. 

Foremost  among  these  are  "  Wealth  and  Rank :  "  were 
I  to  add  "  Beauty"  to  the  list,  such  men  and  women  as  go 
by  fact,  not  by  conjecture,  would  hardly  contradict  me. 

The  fortunate  man  is  he  who,  born  poor,  or  nobody, 
works  gradually  up  to  wealth  and  consideration,  and 
having  got  them,  dies  before  he  finds  they  were  not 
worth  so  much  trouble. 

Lord  Ipsden  started  with  nothing  to  win ;  and  natur- 
ally lived  for  amusement.  Now  nothing  is  so  sure  to 
cease  to  please,  as  pleasure,  —  to  amuse,  as  amusement : 
unfortunately  for  himself  he  could  not  at  this  period  of 
his  life,  warm  to  politics ;  so,  having  exhausted  his 
London  clique,  he  rolled  through  the  cities  of  Europe  in 
his  carriage,  and  cruised  its  shores  in  his  yacht.  But  he 
was  not  happy ! 

He  was  a  man  of  taste,  and  sipped  the  arts  and  other 
knowledge,  as  he  sauntered  Europe  round. 


4  CIIKISTIK    .lOllNSTONE. 

But  ho  \v;is  not  happy. 

'•  Whiit  shall  I  do  ".'"  said  Vmnuyi. 

"  Distinguish  yourself,''  said  one. 

"II(»\V?" 

No  innuediate  answer. 

"'I';ikt'  a  prima  donna  over,"  said  another. 

W  rll,  the  man  took  a  prima  donna  over,  wljich  soolded 
its  mail!  from  tlie  Alps  to  Dover  in  the  limjua  Tosrana 
without  the  hurra  liomuna,  and  sang  in  London  without 
applause;  because  what  goes  down  at  La  Stala  d(jes  Jiot 
generally  go  tlown  at  II  Teatro  della  Kegina,  Hay- 
market. 

So,  then  my  lord  strolled  into  Russia  ;  there  he  drove 
a  pair  of  horses,  one  of  whom  j)ut  his  head  down  an<l 
did  the  work;  the  other  praneed  and  eajaioled  along- 
side, all  unconscious  of  the  trace.  He  seemed  happier 
tlian  his  working  brother;  but  the  biped,  whose  career 
corresponded  with  this  playful  animal's,  was  not  happy. 

At  length  an  event  occurred  that  promised  to  jjlay  an 
adagio  upon  Lord  Ipsden's  mind.  He  fell  in  love  with 
Lady  Barbara  Sinclair;  and  he  had  no  sooner  done  this 
than  he  felt,  as  we  are  all  ai)t  to  do  on  similar  occasions, 
how  wise  a  thing  he  liad  done. 

Besides  a  lovely  person,  Lady  Barbara  Sinclair  had  a 
character  that  he  saw  would  make  him  ;  and,  in  fact, 
Lady  Barbara  Sinclair  was,  to  an  inexperienced  eye,  the 
exact  opposite  of  Lord  Ipsden. 

Her  mental  pulse  was  as  plethoric  as  his  was  languid. 

She  was  as  enthusiastic  as  he  was  cool. 

She  took  a  warm  interest  in  everything. 

She  believed  that  Government  is  a  science,  and  one 
that  goes  with  copia  verhorum. 

She  believed  that,  in  England,  Government  is  admin- 
istered, not  by  a  set  of  men  whose  salaries  range  from 
eighty  to  five  hundred  pounds  a  year,  and  whose  names 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  5 

are  never  heard,  but  by  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury, 
and  other  great  men. 

Hence  she  inferred,  that  it  matters  very  much  to  all 
of  us  in  whose  hand  is  the  rudder  of  that  state  vessel 
which  goes  down  the  wind  of  public  opinion  without 
veering  a  point,  let  who  will  be  at  the  helm. 

She  also  cared  very  much  who  was  the  new  bishop. 
Religion,  if, not  religion,  theology,  would  be  affected 
thereby. 

She  was  enthusiastic  abovit  poets ;  imagined  their 
verse  to  be  some  sort  of  clew  to  their  characters,  and 
so  on. 

She  had  other  theories,  which  will  be  indicated  by 
and  by ;  at  present  it  is  enough  to  say  that  her  mind  was 
young,  healthy,  somewhat  original,  full  of  lire  and  faith, 
and  empty  of  experience. 

Lord  Ipsden  loved  her  !  it  was  easy  to  love  her. 

First,  there  was  not,  in  the  whole  range  of  her  mind 
and  body,  one  grain  of  affectation  of  any  sort. 

She  was  always,  in  point  of  fact,  under  the  influence 
of  some  male  mind  or  other,  generally  some  writer. 
What  young  woman  is  not,  more  or  less,  a  mirror  ?  But 
she  never  imitated  or  affected ;  she  was  always  herself, 
by  whomsoever  colored. 

Then  she  was  beautiful  and  eloquent ;  much  too  high- 
bred to  put  a  restraint  upon  her  natural  manner,  she  was 
often  more  na'ive,  and  even  brusque,  than  your  would-be 
aristocrats  dare  to  be  ;  but  what  a  charming  abruptness 
hers  was ! 

I  do  not  excel  in  descriptions,  and  yet  I  want  to  give 
you  some  carnal  idea  of  a  certain  peculiarity  and  charm 
this  lady  possessed ;  permit  me  to  call  a  sister  art  to  my 
aid. 

There  has  lately  stepped  upon  the  French  stage  a 
charming  personage,  whose  manner  is  quite  free  from 


6  CMi;isTir,  .ioiinstonk. 

the  alTuctiition  that  soils  lu'urly  all  Frt-ncli  actresses  — 
Mademois.'lh'  M;uU'h'in»'  lirohaii  I  Whi-u  you  see  this 
young  huly  phiy  Mu<h'iuoisellu  La  Si'glii>ft',  you  sec  high- 
hretl  si'iisihility  pfrsonitio!.  .in«l  you  srr  xiiiuthin.'  like 
Latly  Barbara  Sinclair. 

Slie  was  a  eonnectioii  ut  i.,<)ni  Ijisili'irs,  imt  li.cy  had 
not  met  for  two  years,  when  they  eneounteml  eacli  other 
in  Paris  just  before  the  comracneeinent  of  tiiis  "  Dra- 
matie  Story,''  "  Novel  "  by  courtesy. 

The  month  he  spent  in  Paris,  near  hor,  was  a  \)right 
month  to  Lord  Ipsden.  A  l)y-stander  would  not  liave 
gathert'd,  from  his  manner,  that  he  was  warmly  in  love 
with  this  lafiy,  but  fi>r  all  that,  his  lordship  was  gradu- 
ally uncoiling  liims«'lf,  and  gracefully,  ([uietly,  basking 
in  the  rays  of  Barbara  Sinclair. 

He  was  also  just  beginning  to  take  an  interest  in  sul>- 
jeets  of  the  day  —  ministries,  Hat  paintings,  controver- 
sial novels,  Cromwell's  spotless  integrity,  etc.  —  why 
not  ?     They  interested  her. 

Suddenly  the  lady  and  her  family  ri'turned  to  FLngland. 
Lord  Ipsden,  who  was  going  to  Home,  came  to  England 
instead. 

She  had  not  been  five  days  in  Londcm,  before  she  made 
her  preparations  to  spend  six  months  in  Perthshire. 

This  brought  matters  to  a  climax. 

Lord  Ipsden  proposed  in  form. 

Lady  Barbara  was  surprised  ;  she  had  not  viewed  his 
graceful  attentions  in  that  light  at  all.  However,  she 
answered  by  letter  his  proposal  which  had  been  made  by 
letter. 

After  a  few  of  those  courteous  words  a  lady  always 
be.stows  on  a  gentleman  who  has  offered  her  the  highest 
compliment  any  man  has  it  in  his  power  to  offer  any 
woman,  she  came  to  the  point  in  the  following  charac- 
teristic manner : 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  7 

The  man  I  many  must  have  two  things,  virtues  and  vices 
—  you  have  neither :  you  do  nothing,  and  never  will  do  any- 
thing but  sketch  and  hum  tunes,  and  dance  and  dangle :  forget 
this  folly  the  day  after  to-morrow,  my  dear  Ipsden,  and  if  I 
may  ask  a  favor  of  one  to  Avhom  I  refuse  that  which  would 
not  be  a  kindness,  be  still  good  friends  with  her  who  will 
always  be 

Your  affectionate  cousin, 

Barbara  Sinclair. 

Soon  after  this  effusion  she  vanished  into  Perthshire, 
leaving  her  cousin  stunned  by  a  blow  which  she  thought 
would  be  only  a  scratch  to  one  of  his  character. 

Lord  Ipsden  relapsed  into  greater  listlessness  than 
before  he  had  cherished  these  crushed  hopes.  The  world 
now  became  really  dark  and  blank  to  him.  He  was  too 
languid  to  go  anywhere  or  do  anything;  a  republican 
might  have  compared  the  settled  expression  of  his  hand- 
some, hopeless  face,  with  that  of  most  day -laborers  of 
the  same  age,  and  moderated  his  envy  of  the  rich  and 
titled. 

At  last  he  became  so  pale  as  well  as  languid,  that  Mr. 
Saunders  interfered. 

Saunders  was  a  model  valet  and  factotum ;  who  had 
been  with  his  master  ever  since  he  left  Eton,  and  had 
made  himself  necessary  to  him  in  their  journe3'S. 

The  said  Saunders  was  reall}'  an  invaluable  servant, 
and  with  a  world  of  obsequiousness,  contrived  to  have 
his  own  way  on  most  occasions.  He  had,  I  believe,  only 
one  great  weakness,  that  of  imagining  a  beau-ideal  of 
aristocracy,  and  then  out-doing  it  in  the  person  of  John 
Saunders. 

Now  this  Saunders  was  human,  and  could  not  be  eight 
years  with  this  young  gentleman  and  not  take  some  little 
interest  in  him.  He  was  flunky,  and  took  a  great 
interest  in  him,  as  stepping-stone  to  his  own  greatness. 


8  CHUISTIK   .lOHNSTONE. 

^o  when  he  saw  him  tuniin},'  pule  and  thin,  and  reading 
one  letter  fifty  times,  he  speculated  and  inqnired  what 
was  the  matt»T.  He  bruuj^ht  the  intellrrt  of  Mr. 
Saunders  to  b«*ar  on  the  (question  at  the  foUowing  angle  . 

"Now  if  I  was  a  younjj  lord  with  twenty  thousand 
pounds  a  year,  and  all  the  world  at  my  feet,  what  would 
make  me  in  this  way  ".' 

"  Why,  thf  liv»'r  I     Nt»thing  else. 

"And  that  is  what  i-^  uiDin^  witli  liim  \ipii  iii:i\  lif- 
pend." 

This  conclusion  arnvi  d  at,  Mr.  S;Luniltis  cDolly  wrot*- 
his  convictions  to  I>r.  Aberford,  and  desired  that  j^entU'- 
man's  immediate  attention  to  the  case.  Au  hour  or  two 
later,  he  glided  into  his  lord's  room,  not  without  some 
secret  trepidation,  no  trace  of  which  appeared  on  his 
face  —  he  pulh'd  a  long  histrionic  countcnanc»'.  "My 
lord,"  said  he,  in  soft,  melancholy  tones,  "your  loni- 
shijt's  melancholy  state  of  health  gives  me  great  anxi- 
ety ;  and  with  matty  apologies  to  your  lordship,  the 
doctor  is  sent  for,  my  lord." 

"  Why,  Saunders,  you  arc  mad ;  there  is  nothing  the 
matirr  with  me." 

"  1  beg  your  lordship's  pardon,  your  lordship  is  very 
ill,  and  Dr.  Aberford  sent  for." 

*  You  nuiy  go,  Saunders." 

*' Yes,  my  lord.  I  couldn't  help  itj  I've  outstepped 
my  duty,  my  lord,  but  I  could  not  stand  quiet  and  see 
your  lordship  dying  by  inches."  Here  Mr.  S.  put  a  cam- 
bric handkerchief  artistically  to  his  eyes,  and  glided  out, 
having  disarmed  censure. 

Lord  Ipsden  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"  Is  my  mind  or  my  body  disordered  ?  Dr.  Aberford  ! 
—  absurd!  —  Saunders  is  getting  too  pragmatical.  The 
doctor  shall  prescribe  for  him  instead  of  me  ;  by  Jove, 
that   would    serve    him    right."      And  my   lord    faintly 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  9 

chuckled.     "  No  !  this  is  what  I  am  ill  of,"  —  and  he 

read  the  fatal  note  again.  ^'  I  do  nothing  !  —  cruel,  un- 
just," sighed  he.  "  I  could  have  done,  would  have  done, 
anything  to  please  her.  Do  nothing  !  nobody  does  any- 
thing now  —  things  don't  come  in  your  way  to  be  done 
as  they  used  centuries  ago,  or  we  should  do  them  just 
the  same  ;  it  is  their  fault,  not  ours,"  argued  his  lord- 
ship somewhat  confusedly  ;  then  leaning  his  brow  upon 
the  sofa  he  wished  to  die  ;  for,  at  that  dark  moment,  life 
seemed  to  this  fortunate  man  an  aching  void ;  a  weary, 
stale,  flat,  unprofitable  tale  :  a  faded  flower ;  a  ball-room 
after  daylight  has  crept  in,  and  music,  motion,  and 
beauty  are  fled  away. 

"  Dr.  Aberford,  my  lord." 

This  announcement,  made  by  Mr.  Saunders,  checked 
his  lordship's  reverie. 

"  Insults  everybody,  does  he  not,  Saunders  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Saunders,  monotonously. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  me ;  that  might  amuse  me,"  said  the 
'other. 

A  moment  later  the  doctor  bowled  into  the  apartment, 
tugging  at  his  gloves,  as  he  ran. 

The  contrast  between  him  and  our  poor  rich  friend  is 
almost  beyond  human  language. 

Here  lay  on  a  sofa,  Ipsden,  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished young  gentlemen  in  Europe  ;  a  creature  in- 
capable, by  nature,  of  a  rugged  tone  or  a  coarse  gesture  ; 
a  being  without  the  slightest  apparent  pretension,  but 
refined  beyond  the  wildest  dream  of  dandies.  To  him, 
enter  Aberford,  perspiring  and  shouting.  He  was  one  of 
those  globules  of  human  quicksilver  one  sees  now  and 
then,  for  two  seconds ;  they  are,  in  fact,  two  globules  ; 
their  head  is  one,  invariably  bald,  round,  and  glittering ; 
the  body  is  another  in  activity  and  shape,  totus  teres 
atque  rotundus ;  and  in  fifty  years  they  live  five  cent- 


10  CIIIlISTrK    .TOHN8TONE. 

urifs,  I/nrum  rej  Al)«'rfor(l  —  of  thes«'  our  doctor  wa* 
thi'  chief.  W^  h;ul  hardly  torn  off  ono  k^'^^'^j  «^'"'  roHtnl 
as  far  as  tlie  thinl  flowrr  from  the  door  on  his  lord.shijt's 
eariH't,  before  he  shoutt'd  : 

"This  is  my  patient,  lolloping  in  pursuit  of  health.  — 
Your  hand,"  adtlod  he.  For  he  was  at  tlio  sofa  long 
before  hi.s  lordship  rould  glide  off  it. 

*•  Ton.i,MU'.  —  I'uls*'  is  gcKxl.  —  Breathe  in  niy  fae««." 

•' Urt-athe  in  y«>ur  fare,  sir  I  how  ean  I  do  that?" 
(With  an  air  of  mild  d«>ubt.) 

''  My  first  inhaling,  and  then  exhaling  in  the  direction 
required,  <>r  how  can  I  make  uequaintanee  with  your 
bowels  ?  " 

"  My  Iwwels  !  " 

"The  alxlomen,  and  the  greatt-r  and  lesser  intestines. 
"NVrll,  nevt-r  mind,  I  can  get  at  tln-m  anotli»'r  way;  give 
your  lieart  a  slap,  so.  —  That's  your  liver.  —  And  that's 
your  diaphragm." 

His  lordsliip  having  found  the  required  spot  (some 
j)c<)ple  that  I  know  could  notj  and  slapped  it,  the 
Aborford  made  a  circular  spring  and  listenufl  eagerly  at 
his  shoulder-blade :  the  result  of  this  scientific  panto- 
mime seemed  to  be  satisfactory,  for  h«  ex(daimed,  not  to 
say  bawled  : 

"  Hallo !  here  is  a  viscount  as  sound  as  a  roach.  Now, 
young  gentleman,"  added  he,  "your  organs  are  superb, 
yet  you  are  really  out  of  sorts ;  it  follows  you  have  the 
maladies  of  idle  minds,  love,  perhaps,  among  the  rest ; 
you  blush,  a  diagiu)8tic  of  that  disorder ;  make  your 
mind  easy ;  cutaneous  disorders,  such  as  love,  etc.,  shall 
never  kill  a  patient  of  mine,  with  a  stomach  like  yours  : 
so,  now  to  cure  you  ! "  And  away  went  the  spherical 
doctor,  with  his  hands  behind  him.  not  up  and  down  the 
room,  but  slanting  and  tacking  like  a  knight  on  a  ehes.s- 
board.     He  had  not  made  many  steps,  before,  turning 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  11 

his  upper  globule,  without  affecting  his  lower,  he  hurled 
back,  in  a  cold  business-like  tone,  the  following  inter- 
rogatory : 

"  What  are  your  vices  ?  " 

"  Saunders,"  inquired  the  patient,  "  which  are  my 
vices  ?  " 

"  M'  lord,  lordship  hasn't  any  vices,"  replied  Saunders, 
with  dull  matter-of-fact  solemnity. 

"  Lady  Barbara  makes  the  same  complaint,"  thought 
Lord  Tpsden. 

"  It  seems  I  have  not  any  vices,  Dr.  Aberford,"  said 
he,  demurely. 

"  That  is  bad ;  nothing  to  get  hold  of.  What  interests 
you  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  remember." 

"  '^Vhat  amuses  you  ?  " 

« I  forget." 

"  What !  no  winning  horse  to  gallop  away  your  rents  ?  " 

"No,  sir!" 

"No  opera  girl,  to  run  her  foot  and  ankle  through  your 
purse  ?  " 

"  No,  sir !  and  I  think  their  ankles  are  not  what  they 
were." 

"  Stuff !  just  the  same,  from  their  ankles  up  to  their 
ears,  and  down  again  to  their  morals ;  it  is  your  eyes 
that  are  sunk  deeper  into  your  head.  Hum  !  no  horses, 
no  vices,  no  dancers,  no  yacht;  you  confound  one's 
notions  of  nobility,  and  I  ought  to  know  them,  for  I 
have  to  patch  them  all  up  a  bit  just  before  they  go  to 
the  deuce." 

"  But  I  have,  Dr.  Aberford." 

"What!" 

"  A  yacht !  and  a  clipper  she  is,  too." 

"  Ah  I     (Now  I've  got  him.)  " 

"In  the  Bay  of  Biscay  she  lay  a  half  a  point  nearer 
the  wind  than  Lord  Heavyjib." 


12  CHKISTIK   .lOllNSTONK. 


''Oh,   IjoiIht    lionl    lliMVvjilt,    :iii.l    his    liay   of    His- 


cay 


t  " 


"  With  all  my  heart ;  they  have  oitvn  iMJthored  iiu'." 

".St'tul  her  round  to  (iranton  Pier,  in  the  Firth  of 
Forth." 

*•  1  will,  sir." 

'Ami  write  down  this  pre.seription."  And  away  he 
walkeil  again,  thinkin}^  the  prescription. 

"Saunders,"  apjM'ah'd  his  master. 

'•  Saunders  be  hanged  I  " 

"Sir!"  said  Saunders,  with  dignity,  *'  I  thank  you." 

"  Don't  tliank  me  ;  thank  your  own  deaerts,"  replied 
tlie  modern  Chestertield.  "Oblige  me  by  writing  it 
yourself,  my  lord  ;  it  is  all  the  l>odily  exercise  you  will 
have  had  to-day,  no  doubt." 

The  young  viscount  bowed,  seated  himself  at  a  desk, 
and  wrote  from  dictation:  '•  Du.  .Vmkkkokij's  Pukscrii' 
Tio.N  : 

"Make  ac(iuaintance  with  all  the  people  of  low  estate 
who  have  time  to  l)e  lx)thered  with  you  ;  learn  their 
ways,  their  minds,  and,  above  all,  their  troubles." 

"  Won't  all  this  bore  me  '.'  "  suggesteil  tiie  writer. 

"  Vou  will  see.  Relieve  one  fellow<-reature  every  day, 
and  let  Mr.  Saunders  book  the  circumstiinces." 

"  1  shall  like  this  i)art,"  said  the  patient,  laying  down 
his  pen.  "  How  clever  of  you  to  think  of  such  things  ; 
may  not  I  do  two  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not ;  one  pill  per  day.  —  Write,  Fish  the 
herring  I  (that  beats  deer-stalking.)  Run  your  nose  into 
adventures  at  sea ;  live  on  tenpeuce,  and  earn  it ;  is  it 
down  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  down,  but  Saunders  would  have  written  it 
better." 

''If  he  hadn't,  he  ought  to  be  hanged,"  said  the 
Aberford,  inspecting  the  work.     -  I'm  off ;  where's  my 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  13 

hat?  oh,  there;  where's  my  mone}- ?  oh,  here.  Now, 
look  here  ;  follow  my  prescription,  and 

You  will  soon  have  Mens  sana  in  corpore  sano  ; 
And  not  care  whether  the  girls  say  yes  or  say  no. 

Neglect  it,  and  —  my  gloves  ;  oh,  in  my  pocket  —  you 
will  be  blase  and  ennuye  and  —  (an  English  participle 
that  means  something  as  bad)  ;  God  bless  you  !  " 

And  out  he  scuttled,  glided  after  by  Saunders,  for 
whom  he  opened  and  shut  the  street  door. 

Never  was  a  greater  elfect  produced  by  a  doctor's 
visit :  patient  and  physician  were  made  for  each  other. 
Dr.  Aberford  was  the  specific  for  Lord  Ipsden.  He  came 
to  him  like  a  shower  to  a  fainting  strawberry. 

Saunders,  on  his  return,  found  his  lord  pacing  the 
apartment. 

"  Saunders,"  said  he,  smartly  ;  "  send  down  to  Graves- 
end,  and  order  the  yacht  to  this  place  —  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Granton  Pier.     Yes,  my  lord." 

"  And,  Saunders,  take  clothes  and  books  and  violins 
and  telescopes  and  things  —  and  me  —  to  Euston  Square 
in  an  hour." 

"Impossible,  my  lord,"  cried  Saunders,  in  dismay. 
"And  there  is  no  train  for  hours." 

His  master  replied  witli  a  hundred-pound  note,  and  a 
quiet  but  wickedish  look ;  and  the  prince  of  gentlemen's 
gentlemen  had  all  the  required  items  Avith  him,  in  a 
special  train,  within  the  specified  time,  and  away  they 
flashed  northwards. 


14  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

It  is  siiid  that  opposite  characters  make  a  union 
lKii)[»iist ;  antl  perhaps  Lord  Ipsden,  dirtidi'ut  of  him- 
self, f«*lt  the  vahu'  to  liim  of  a  creature  so  (litTcreut  as 
Lady  Barbara  Sinclair;  but  the  lady,  for  her  part,  was 
not  diffident  of  herself,  nor  was  she  in  search  of  her 
op[)osite  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  was  waitinjj  patiently  to 
find  just  such  a  man  as  she  was,  or  fancied  herself,  a 
woman. 

Accustomed  to  measure  men  by  their  characters  alone, 
and  to  treat  with  sublime  contempt  the  accidents  of  birth 
and  fortune,  she  had  been  a  little  stas^gered  by  the  a.ssur- 
ance  of  this  butterfly  that  had  proposed  to  settle  upon 
her  hand  —  for  life. 

In  a  word,  the  lieautiful  writer  of  the  fatal  note  was 
honestly  romantic,  accord  iuL,'  to  the  romance  of  1848, 
and  of  j^ood  society  ;  of  course  she  was  not  atfected  by 
hair  tumbling  back  or  plastered  down  forwards,  and  a 
rolling  eye  went  no  farther  with  her  than  a  squinting 
one. 

Her  romance  was  stern,  not  sickly.  She  was  on  the 
lookout  for  iron  virtues ;  she  had  sworn  to  V)e  wooed 
with  great  deeds,  or  never  won  ;  on  this  subject  she  had 
thought  much,  though  not  enough  to  ask  herself  whether 
great  deeds  are  always  to  be  got  at,  however  disposed  a 
lover  may  be. 

No  matter ;  she  kept  herself  in  reserve  for  some  earnest 
man,  who  was  not  to  come  flattering  and  fooling  to  her, 
but  look  another  way  and  do  exploits. 

She  liked  Lord  Ipsden,  her  cousin  once  removed,  but 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  15 

despised  hira  for  being  agreeable,  handsome,  clever,  and 
nobody. 

She  was  also  a  little  bitten  with  what  she  and  others 
called  the  Middle  Ages,  in  fact  with  that  picture  of  them 
which  Grub  Street,  imposing  on  the  simplicity  of  youth, 
had  got  up  for  sale  by  arraying  painted  glass,  gilt  rags, 
and  fancy,  against  fact. 

With  these  vague  and  sketchy  notices  we  are  compelled 
to  part,  for  the  present,  with  Lady  Barbara :  but  it  serves 
her  right ;  she  has  gone  to  establish  her  court  in  Perth- 
shire, and  left  her  rejected  lover  on  our  hands. 

Journeys  of  a  few  hundred  miles  are  no  longer 
described. 

You  exchange  a  dead  chair  for  a  living  chair ;  Saunders 
puts  in  your  hand  a  new  tale  like  this  ;  you  mourn  the 
superstition  of  booksellers,  which  still  inflicts  uncut 
leaves  upon  humanity,  though  tailors  do  not  send  home 
coats  with  the  sleeves  stitched  up,  nor  chambermaids  put 
travellers  into  apple-pie  beds  as  well  as  damp  sheets. 
You  rend  and  read,  and  are  at  Edinburgh,  fatigued  more 
or  less,  but  not  by  the  journey. 

Lord  Ipsden  was,  therefore,  soon  installed  by  the  Firth 
side,  full  of  the  Aberford. 

The  young  nobleman  not  only  venerated  the  doctor's 
sagacity,  but  half  admired  his  brusquerie  and  bustle  ; 
things  of  which  he  was  himself  never  guilty. 

As  for  the  prescription,  that  was  a  Delphic  Oracle. 
Worlds  could  not  have  tempted  him  to  deviate  from  a 
letter  in  it. 

He  waited  with  impatience  for  the  yacht ;  and,  mean- 
time, it  struck  him  that  the  first  part  of  the  prescription 
could  be  attacked  at  once. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  succeeding  his  arrival. 
The  Fifeshire  hills,  seen  across  the  Firth  from  his  win- 
dows, were  beginning  to  take  their  charming  violet  tinge, 


16  CHRISTIK    JOHNSTONE. 

a  li};lit  breeze  ruttied  the  hint-  w;itcr  into  a  sparkling 
smile,  the  shore  \v;is  tnuKjiiil,  ;in<l  the  sea  full  ot  noise- 
less life,  with  the  eruft  of  all  sizes  gliding  and  dancing 
and  courtesying  on  their  trackless  roads. 

The  air  was  tepid,  j)ure,  and  sweet  as  heaven  ;  this 
bright  afternoon,  nature  had  grudgetl  nothing  that  could 
give  fresh  life  and  hope  to  such  dwidh-rs  in  dust  and 
smoke  and  vice,  as  were  there,  to  look  awhile  on  her 
clean  face  and  drink  her  honeyed  breath. 

This  young  gentleman  was  not  insensible  to  the  beauty 
of  the  scene.  He  was  a  little  lazy  by  nature,  and  made 
lazier  by  the  misfortune  of  wealth,  but  he  had  sensibili- 
ties ;  he  was  an  artist  of  great  natural  talent ;  had  ho. 
only  been  without  a  penny,  how  he  would  have  handled 
the  brush  !  And  then  he  was  a  mighty  sailor;  if  he  hatl 
sailed  for  biscuit  a  few  years,  how  he  would  have  handled 
a  ship  ! 

As  he  was,  he  had  the  eye  of  a  hawk  for  nature's 
beauties,  and  the  sea  always  came  back  to  him  like  a 
friend  after  an  absence. 

This  scene,  then,  curled  round  his  heart  a  little,  and 
he  felt  the  good  physician  was  wiser  than  the  tribe  that 
go  by  that  name,  and  strive  to  build  health  on  the  sandy 
foundation  of  drugs. 

'•  Saunders  I  do  you  know  what  Dr.  Aberford  means 
by  the  lower  classes  ?  " 

*'  Perfectly,  my  lord." 

"  Are  there  any  about  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  are  everywhere,  my  lord." 

'•  G-et  me  some''  (cigarette). 

Out  went  Saunders,  with  his  useful  graceful  empresse- 
ment,  but  an  internal  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

He  was  absent  an  hour  and  a  half ;  he  then  returned 
with  a  double  expression  on  his  face  —  pride  at  his  suc- 
cess in  diving  to  the  very  bottom  of  society,  and  contempt 
of  what  he  had  fished  up  thence. 


CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE.  17 

He  approached  his  lord  mysteriously,  and  said,  sotto 
voce,  but  impressively,  "This  is  low  enough,  my  lord." 
Then  glided  back,  and  ushered  in,  with  polite  disdain, 
two  lovelier  women  than  he  had  ever  opened  a  door  to  in 
the  whole  course  of  his  perfumed  existence. 

On  their  heads  they  wore  caps  of  Dutch  or  Flemish 
origin,  with  a  broad  lace  border,  stiffened  and  arched 
over  the  forehead,  about  three  inches  high,  leaving  the 
brow  and  cheeks  unencumbered. 

They  had  cotton  jackets,  bright  red  and  yello^v,  mixed 
in  patterns,  confined  at  the  waist  by  the  apron-strings, 
but  bobtailed  below  the  waist ;  short  woollen  petticoats, 
with  broad  vertical  stripes,  red  and  white,  most  vivid  in 
color;  white  worsted  stockings,  and  neat,  though  high- 
quartered  shoes.  Under  their  jackets  they  wore  a  thick 
spotted  cotton  handkerchief,  about  one  inch  of  which  was 
visible  round  the  lower  part  of  the  throat. 

Of  their  petticoats,  the  outer  one  was  kilted,  or  gath- 
ered up  towards  the  front,  and  the  second,  of  the  same 
color,  hung  in  the  usual  way. 

Of  these  young  women,  one  had  an  olive  complexion, 
with  the  red  blood  mantling  under  it,  and  black  hair, 
and  glorious  black  eyebrows. 

The  other  was  fair,  with  a  massive  but  shapely  throat, 
as  white  as  milk ;  glossy  brown  hair,  the  loose  threads 
of  which  glittered  like  gold,  and  a  blue  eye,  which  being 
contrasted  with  dark  eyebrows  and  lashes,  took  the 
luminous  effect  peculiar  to  that  rare  beauty. 

Their  short  petticoats  revealed  a  neat  ankle,  and  a  leg 
with  a  noble  swell ;  for  Nature,  when  she  is  in  earnest, 
builds  beauty  on  the  ideas  of  ancient  sculptors  and  poets, 
not  of  modern  poetasters,  who  with  their  airy -like  sylphs 
and  their  smoke-like  verses,  fight  for  want  of  flesh  in 
woman  and  want  of  fact  in  poetry  as  parallel  beauties. 

Thei/  are,  my  lads.  —  Continuez  ! 
2 


18  CHHISTIK    .lOHNSToyE. 

These  wonu-n  liad  a  gruiul  forporoal  tract ;  they  had 
never  known  a  corset,  so  they  were  straight  as  javelins ; 
they  could  lift  their  hands  above  their  heads!  —  actu- 
ally! Their  supple  persons  moved  as  Nature  intended; 
every  gesture  was  ease,  grace,  and  freedom. 

What  with  their  own  radiance,  and  the  snowy  cleanli- 
ness and  briglitness  of  their  costume,  they  came  like 
meteors  into  the  apartment. 

Lord  Ipsden,  rising  gently  from  hi.s  seat,  with  the 
same  quiet  politeness  with  which  he  would  have  received 
two  in-ineos  of  the  blood,  saiil,  "How  do  you  do?"  and 
smiled  a  welcome. 

"Fine!  hoow's  yoursel?"  answered  the  dark  lass, 
whose  name  was  Jean  Carnie,  ami  whose  voice  was  not 
80  sweet  as  her  face. 

"  VVhat'n  lord  are  ye  ?  "  continued  she.  ''  Are  you  a 
juke'.'     I  wad  like  tine  to  hae  a  crack  wi'  a  juke." 

Saunders,  who  knew  himself  the  cause  of  this  ques- 
tion, replied,  softo  voce.  "His  lordship  is  a  viscount." 

'•  I  didna  keii't."  was  Jean's  remark.  "  But  it  has  a 
bonny  soond." 

"What  mair  would  ye  hae?"  said  the  fair  beauty, 
whose  name  was  Christie  Johnstone.  Then  appealing 
to  his  lordshij)  as  the  likeliest  to  know,  she  added, 
"Nobeelity  is  just  a  soond  itsel,  I'm  tauld." 

The  viscount  finding  himself  expected  to  say  some- 
thing on  a  topic  he  had  not  attended  much  to,  answered 
dryly,  *'  We  must  iisk  the  republicans,  they  are  the 
people  that  give  their  minds  to  such  subjects." 

"And  yon  man,"  asked  Jean  Carnie,  "is  he  a  lord, 
too  ?  " 

"I  am  his  lordship's  servant,"  replied  Saunders, 
gravely,  not  without  a  secret  misgiving  whether  fate 
had  been  just. 

"Xa!"  replied  she,  not  to  be  imposed  upon,  "ye  are 
statelier  and  prooder  than  this  ane." 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  19 

"I  will  explain,"  said  his  master.  ''Saunders  knows 
his  value ;  a  servant  like  Saunders  is  rarer  than  an  idle 
viscount." 

"  My  lord,  my  lord  I  "  remonstrated  Saunders,  with  a 
shocked  and  most  disclamatory  tone.  "  Eather ! "  was 
his  inward  reflection. 

"Jean,"  said  Christie,  '-'ye  hae  muckle  to  laern.  Are 
ye  for  herrin'  the  day.  Vile  Count  ?  " 

"  No !  are  you  for  this  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

At  this,  Saunders,  with  a  world  of  empressement, 
offered  the  Carnie  some  cake  that  was  on  the  table. 

She  took  a  piece,  instantly  spat  it  out  into  her  hand, 
and  with  more  energy  than  delicacy  flung  it  into  the  fire. 

"Augh!"  cried  she,  "just  a  sugar  and  saut  butter 
thegither ;  buy  nae  mair  at  yon  shoep.  Vile  Count." 

"  Try  this,  out  of  Nature's  shop,"  laughed  their  enter- 
tainer ;  and  he  offered  them,  himself,  some  peaches  and 
things. 

"  Hech  I  a  medi — cine  I  "  said  Christie. 

"  Nature,  my  lad,"  said  Miss  Carnie,  making  her  ivory 
teeth  meet  in  their  first  nectarine,  "  I  didna  ken  whaur 
ye  stoep,  but  ye  beat  the  other  confectioners,  that  div 

ye." 

The  fair  lass,  who  had  watched  the  viscount  all  this 
time  as  demurely  as  a  cat  cream,  now  approached  him. 

This  young  woman  was  the  thinker;  her  voice  was 
also  rich,  full,  and  melodious,  and  her  manner  very  en- 
gaging ;  it  was  half  advancing,  half  retiring,  not  easy  to 
resist,  or  to  describe. 

"Noo,"  said  she,  with  a  very  slight  blush  stealing 
across  her  face,  "ye  maun  let  me  catecheeze  ye, 
wull  ye?" 

The  last  two  words  were  said  in  a  way  that  would 
have  induced  a  bear  to  reveal  his  winter  residence. 

He  smiled  assent.     Saunders  retired  to  the  door,  and 


20  CHRISTIK    .lOHNfiTONE. 

excluding  every  sIkkU'  of  curiosity  from  his  face,  took 
an  attitude,  luilf  niajt'Sty,  halt  obsequiousness. 

Christie  stood  l)y  T^ord  Ipsden,  with  one  hand  on  her 
hi])  (the  knuckles  downwards),  hut  graceful  as  Antinous, 
and  began. 

"  IIoo  niuckle  is  the  Quiin  i^'icater  than  y'  are?" 

His  lordship  was  obliged  to  reflect. 

"  Let  me  see  —  ;us  is  the  moon  to  a  wax  taper,  so  is 
her  Majesty  the  Queen  to  you  and  me,  and  tht^  rest." 

"  An'  whaur  does  the  Juke  '  come  in  ?  " 

"On  this  particular  occasion,  the  Duke^  makes  one  of 
us,  my  pretty  maid." 

"I  see  !     Are  na  ye  awfu'  prood  o'  being  a  lorrd  ';' " 

"  What  an  id»'a  !  " 

"His  lordship  did  not  go  to  ImmI  a  spinning-jenny,  and 
rise  np  a  lord,  like  some  of.  them,"  put  in  Saunders. 

"Saunders,"  said  the  peer,  doubtfully,  "eloquence 
rather  bores  people." 

"Then  I  mustn't  speak  again,  my  lord,"  said  Saunders, 
respectfully. 

"Noo,"  said  the  fair  inquisitor,  "ye  shall  tell  me  how 
ye  came  to  be  lorrds,  your  fat'mily  ?" 

*'  Saunders  !  " 

"Xa!  ye  mauna  flee  to  Sandy  for  a  thing,  ye  are  no  a 
bairn,  are  ye  ?  " 

Here  was  a  dilemma,  the  Saunders  prop  knocked  rudely 
away,  and  obliged  to  think  for  ourselves. 

But  Saunders  would  come  to  his  distressed  master's 
assistance.  He  furtively  conveyed  to  him  a  plump  book, 
—  this  was  Saunders's  manual  of  faith  ;  the  author  was 
jMr.  Burke,  not  Edmund. 

Lord  Ipsden  ran  hastily  over  the  page,  closed  the  book, 
and  said,  "  Here  is  the  story. 

"  Five  hundred  years  ago  "  — 

*  Buccleacb.  *  Wellington. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  21 

"  Listen,  Jean,"  said  Christie ;  "  we're  gaun  to  get  a 
boeny  story.  '  Five  hundre'  years  ago/  "  added  she,  with 
interest  and  awe. 

"  Was  a  great  battle,"  resumed  the  narrator,  in  cheer- 
ful tones,  as  one  larking  with  history,  —  "between  a 
king  of  England  and  his  rebels.  He  was  in  the  thick  of 
the  fight"  — 

"  That's  the  king,  Jean,  he  was  in  the  thick  o't." 

"  My  ancestor  killed  a  fellow  who  was  sneaking  be- 
hind him,  b\it  the  next  moment  a  man-at-arms  prepared 
a  thrust  at  his  Majesty,  who  had  his  hands  full  with  three 
assailants." 

"  Eh !  that's  no  fair,"  said  Christie,  "  as  sure  as  deeth." 

"  My  ancestor  dashed  forward,  and  as  the  king's  sword 
passed  through  one  of  them,  he  clove  another  to  the 
waist  with  a  blow." 

"  Weel  done  !  weel  done  ! " 

Lord  Ipsden  looked  at  the  speaker,  her  eyes  were 
glittering,  and  her  cheek  flushing. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  thought  he  ;  "  she  believes  it ! "  So 
he  began  to  take  more  pains  with  his  legend. 

"  But  for  the  spearsman,"  continued  he,  "  he  had  noth- 
ing but  his  body ;  he  gave  it,  it  was  his  duty,  and  re- 
ceived the  death  levelled  at  his  sovereign." 

"  Hech  I  puir  mon."  And  the  glowing  eyes  began  to 
glisten. 

"  The  battle  flowed  another  wa}^,  and  God  gave  victory 
to  the  right ;  but  the  king  came  back  to  look  for  him,  for 
it  was  no  common  service." 

"  Deed  no  !  " 

Here  Lord  Ipsden  began  to  turn  his  eye  inwards,  and 
call  up  the  scene.     He  lowered  his  voice. 

'•  They  found  him  lying  on  his  back,  looking  death  in 
the  face. 

"  The  nobles,  .by  the  king's  side,  uncovered  as  soon  as 


22  cnmsTir.  .kiiin'stone. 

he  was  found,  for  thoy  were  brave  mon,  too.  There  was 
a  moment's  silom-e;  eyes  met  eyes,  and  said,  This  is  a 
stout  soldirr's  last  battle. 

"The  king  could  not  bid  him  live." 

"Na!  lad,  King  Dreth  has  ower  strong  a  grrip." 

"Hut  he  did  what  kings  can  do,  he  gave  him  two  blows 
with  his  royal  sword." 

"Oh!  the  roblier,  and  him  a  deeing  mon." 

"Two  words  from  his  royal  month,  and  he  and  we  were 
barons  of  Ipsden  and  Hawthorn  (ilen  from  that  day  to 
this." 

"  Hut  the  puir  <lying  creature  ?  " 

"  What  poor  dying  creature  ?  " 

"Your  forbear,  hul." 

'•  I  don't  know  why  you  call  him  poor,  madam  ;  all  the 
men  of  that  day  are  dust ;  they  are  the  gold  dust,  who 
died  with  honor. 

"He  looked  round,  uneasily,  for  his  son,  —  for  he  had 
b\it  one,  —  and  when  that  son  knelt,  unwounded,  by  him, 
he  said,  'Good-night,  Haron  Ipsden;'  and  so  he  died, 
fire  in  his  eye,  a  smile  on  his  lip,  and  honor  on  his  name 
forever.  T  meant  to  tell  you  a  lie,  and  I've  told  you  the 
truth." 

"  Ijaddie,"  said  Christie,  half  admiringly,  half  reproach- 
fully, "ye  gar  the  tear  come  in  my  een.  Hech  !  look  at 
yon  lassie !  how  could  you  think  feat  jdums  through 
siccan  a  bonny  story  ?  " 

"  Hets,"  answered  Jean,  who  had,  in  fact,  cleared 
the  plate,  "  I  aye  listen  best  when  my  ain  mooth's 
stappit." 

"  But  see,  now,"  pondered  Christie,  "  twa  words  fra  a 
king,  — thir  titles  are  just  breeth." 

"  Of  course,"  was  the  answer.  "  All  titles  are.  "What 
is  popularity?  Ask  Aristides  and  Lamartine  :  —  the 
breath  of  a  mob,  —  smells  of  its  source,  —  and  is  gone 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  23 

before  the  sun  can  set  on  it.  Xow  the  royal  breath  does 
smell  of  the  rose  and  crown,  and  stays  by  us  from  age  to 
age." 

The  story  had  warmed  our  marble  acquaintance. 
Saunders  opened  his  eyes,  and  thought,  "  We  shall 
wake  up  the  House  of  Lords  some  evening,  —  tve 
shall." 

His  lordship  then  added,  less  warmly,  looking  at  the 
girls,  — 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  be  a  fisherman."  So  saying, 
my  lord  yawned  slightly. 

To  this  aspiration  the  young  fishwives  deigned  no 
attention,  doubting,  perhaps,  its  sincerity ;  and  Christie, 
with  a  shade  of  severity,  inquired  of  him  how  he  came 
to  be  a  Vile  Count. 

"A  baron's  no'  a  Vile  Count,  I'm  sure,"  said  she  ;  "  sae 
tell  me  how  ye  came  to  be  a  Vile  Count." 

"  Ah !  "  said  he,  "  that  is  by  no  means  a  pretty  story, 
like  the  other ;  you  will  not  like  it,  I  am  sure." 

"  Ay,  will  I,  —  ay,  will  I ;  I'm  aye  seeking  knoew- 
ledge." 

"  Well,  it  is  soon  told.  One  of  us  sat  twenty  years  on 
one  seat,  in  the  same  house,  so  one  day  he  got  up  a  — 
viscount." 

"Ower  muckle  pay  for  ower  little  wark." 

"  Now  don't  say  that,  I  wouldn't  do  it  to  be  emperor  of 
Russia." 

"  Aweel,  I  hae  gotten  a  heap  out  o'  ye ;  sae  noow  I'll 
gang,  since  ye  are  no'  for  herrin' ;  come  away,  Jean." 

At  this  their  host  remonstrated,  and  inquired,  why 
bores  are  at  one's  service,  night  and  day,  and  bright  peo- 
ple are  always  in  a  hurry ;  he  was  informed,  in  reply, 
"  Labor  is  the  lot  o'  tnan.  Div  ye  no  ken  that  muckle  ? 
And  abune  a'  o'  women."  ^ 

1  A  local  idea,  I  suspect.  —  C.  R. 


24  CHHISTll-:    .KJIINSTONE. 

••  \N  hy,  what  can  two  such  pretty  creatures  have  to  do, 
except  to  be  ail  mi  red  ?  " 

This  question  coming  within  the  dark  beauty's  scope, 
she  hastened  to  reply. 

"  To  sell  our  herrin'  —  we  hae  three  hundre'  left  in  the 
creel." 

'*  What  is  the  price  ?  " 

At  this  question  the  poetry  died  out  of  Christie  John- 
stone's face,  she  gave  her  companion  a  rajtid  look,  indis- 
cernible by  male  eye,  and  answered, — 

"Three  a  jjcnny,  sirr;  they  are  no  plenty  the  day," 
added  she,  in  smooth  tones  that  carried  conviction. 

(Little  liar,  they  were  selling  six  a  penny  everywhere.) 

"Saunders,  buy  them  all,  and  be  ever  so  long  about  it; 
count  tliem,  or  sonu'  nonsense." 

"He's  daft!  he's  daft !  Oh,  ye  ken,  Jean,  an  Ennglish- 
man  and  a  lorrd,  twa  daft  things  thegither,  he  CQuld  na' 
miss  the  road.     Coont  thein,  lassie." 

"  Come  away,  Sandy,  till  1  count  them  till  ye,"  said 
Jean. 

Saunders  and  Jean  disappeared. 

Business  being  out  of  sight,  curiosity  revived. 

••  An'  what  brings  ye  here  from  Loudon,  if  ye  please  ?" 
recommenced  the  fair  inquisitor. 

"  You  have  a  good  countenance  ;  there  is  something  in 
your  face.  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  tell  you,  but  I 
should  bore  you." 

"  De'el  a  fear !  Bore  me,  bore  me  !  whaat's  thaat,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  What  is  your  name,  madam  ?     Mine  is  Ipsden." 

"They  ca'  me  Christie  Johnstone." 

"  Well,  Christie  Johnstone,  I  am  under  the  doctor's 
hands." 

"  Puir  lad  !  What's  the  trouble  ?  "  (solemnly  and 
tenderly.) 


CHRIST LE   JOHNSTONE.  25 

^'  Ennui  r'  (rather  piteousl}'.) 

"  Yawn-we  ?     I  never  heerd  tell  o't." 

"  Oh,  you  lucky  girl,"  burst  out  he ;  "  but  the  doctor 
has  undertaken  to  cure  me:  in  one  thing  you  could 
assist  me,  if  I  am  not  presuming  too  far  on  our  short 
acquaintance.  1  am  to  relieve  one  poor  distressed  person 
every  day,  but  I  mustn't  do  two ;  is  not  that  a  bore  ?  " 

"  Gie's  your  hand,  gie's  your  hand.  I'm  vexed  for 
ca'iug  you  daft.  Hech  !  what  a  saft  hand  ye  hae.  Jean, 
I'm  saying,  come  here,  feel  this." 

Jean,  who  had  run  in,  took  the  viscount's  hand  from 
Christie. 

"  It  never  wroucht  any,"  explained  Jean. 

"And  he  has  bonny  hair,"  said  Christie,  just  touch- 
ing his  locks  on  the  other  side. 

''  He's  a  bonny  lad,"  said  Jean,  inspecting  him  scien- 
tifically and  point-blank. 

"  Ay,  is  he,"  said  the  other.  "  Aweel,  there's  Jess 
Rutherford,  a  widd}',  wi'  four  bairns,  ye  meicht  do  waur 
than  ware  your  siller  on  her." 

"  Five  pounds  to  begin  ?  "  inquired  his  lordship. 

"  Five  pund  I     Are  ye  made  o'  siller  ?     Ten  schell'n  I " 

Saunders  was  rung  for,  and  produced  a  one-pound 
note. 

"  The  herrin  is  five  and  saxpence :  it's  four  and  sax- 
pence  I'm  awin  ye,"  said  the  young  fishwife,  "  and  Jess 
will  be  a  glad  woman  the  neicht." 

The  settlement  was  effected,  and  away  went  the  two 
friends  saying.  — 

'•'  Good-boye,  Vile  Count." 

Their  host  fell  into  thought. 

'•  When  have  I  talked  so  much  ?  "  asked  he  of  himself. 
''  Dr.  Aberford,  you  are  a  wonderful  man ;  I  like  your 
lower  classes  amazingly." 

^^  Mejiez-vous,  Monsieur  Ipsden  !  "  should  some  mentor 
have  said. 


26  CnUlSTlK   JOHNSTONE. 

As  the  devil  puts  into  h  beginner's  hands  ace,  queen, 
five  trumps,  to  give  him  a  taste  for  whist,  so  these  hjwt-r 
classes  have  pcrh;ips  put  forward  one  of  their  best  cards 
to  lead  vou  into  :i  fulsc  I'slimatt-  of  the  ^tn■^"th  of  their 
hand. 

Instfad,  howevrr.  ol  this,  wlio  shouM  r.'turn  to  disturb 
the  equilibrium  of  truth,  but  this  Christina  Johnstone. 
She  came  thoughtfully  in,  and  saiil, — 

"  I've  been  taking  a  thouclit,  and  this  is  no  what  yon 
glide  ])hyseeeian  moaned  :  ye  are  no  to  fling  your  chaerity 
like  a  bane  till  a  doeg ;  yy'll  gang  yoursel  to  Jess  Ruth- 
erford; Flufkt'r  .Tdluistntic.  thnt's  iii\  brofhtM',  u'ill  con- 
voy ye." 

"Hut  how  IS  your  brother  to  know  mv  '.'  " 

''  How  '.'  lii-eause  I'll  gie  him  a  sair,  sair  hiding,  if 
he  lets  ye  gang  by." 

She  then  returned  tin-  i>iif-{)ound  note,  a  fresh  settle- 
ment was  effected,  ami  she  left  him. 

At  the  door  she  said,  "  And  I  am  muckle  obleeged  to 
ye  for  your  story  and  your  goodness." 

Whilst  uttering  these  words,  she  half  kissed  her  hand 
to  him,  with  a  lolty  and  disengaged  gesture.  su(d»  as  one 
might  expect  from  a  queen,  if  queens  did  not  wear  stays; 
and  was  gone. 

When  his  lordship,  a  few  minutes  after,  sauntered  out 
for  a  stroll,  the  first  object  he  beheld  was  an  exact  human 
square,  a  handsome  boy,  with  a  body  swelled  out,  appar- 
ently to  the  size  of  a  man's,  with  blue  flannel,  and  blue 
cloth  above  it,  leaning  again.st  a  wall,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  — a  statuette  of  hisouciance. 

This  marine  puff-ball  was  Flucker  Johnstone,  aged 
fourteen. 

Stain  his  sister's  face  with  diluted  walnut-juice,  as 
they  make  the  stage  gypsy  and  red  Indian  (two  animals 
imagined  by  actors  to  be  one),  and  you  have  Flucker's 
face. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  27 

A  slight  moral  distinction  remains,  not  to  be  so  easily 
got  over. 

She  was  the  best  girl  in  the  place,  and  he  a  baddish 
boy. 

He  was,  however,  as  sharp  in  his  way  as  she  was  in- 
telligent in  hers. 

This  youthful  mariner  allowed  his  lordship  to  pass 
him,  and  take  twenty  steps,  but  watched  him  all  the 
time,  and  compared  him  with  a  description  furnished 
him  by  his  sister. 

He  then  followed,  and  brought  him  to,  as  he  called  it. 

"  I  daur  say  it's  you  I'm  to  convoy  to  yon  auld  faggitt ! " 
said  this  baddish  boy. 

On  they  went,  Flucker  rolling  and  pitching  and  yaw- 
ing to  keep  up  with  the  lordly  galley,  for  a  fisherman's 
natural  waddle  is  two  miles  an  hour. 

At  the  very  entrance  of  Newhaven,  the  new  pilot  sud- 
denly sung  out,  "  Starboard !  " 

Starboard  it  was,  and  they  ascended  a  filthy  "  close  " 
or  alley.  They  mounted  a  staircase  which  was  out  of 
doors,  and,  without  knocking,  Flucker  introduced  him- 
self into  Jess  Rutherford's  house. 

"  Here  a  gentleman  to  speak  till  ye,  wife." 


28  CHRISTIK    .lOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER   III. 

TiiK  widow  was  weather-beaten  and  rough.  She  sat 
mending  an  old  net. 

"The  gentk'inan's  weh^ome,"  said  she;  Init  tliere  wafi 
no  gratiheation  in  her  tone,  and  but  little  surprise. 

His  lordship  then  explained  that,  understanding  there 
were  worthy  jM'ople  in  ilistress,  he  was  in  hopes  he 
might  be  permitted  to  assist  them,  and  that  she  must 
blame  a  neighbor  of  hers  if  hv  had  broken  in  upon  her 
too  abruptly  with  this  object.  He  then,  with  a  blush, 
hinted  at  ten  shillings,  which  he  begged  she  would  con- 
sider as  merely  an  instalment,  until  he  could  learn  the 
precise  nature  of  her  embarrassments,  and  the  best  way 
of  placing  means  at  her  disposal. 

The  widow  heard  all  this  with  a  lack-lustre  mind. 

For  many  years  her  life  had  been  unsuccessful  labor  : 
if  anything  ever  had  come  to  her,  it  had  always  been  a 
misfortune;  her  incidents  had  been  thorns,  her  events 
daggers. 

She  could  not  realize  a  human  angel  coming  to  her 
relief,  and  she  did  not  realize  it,  and  she  worked  away 
at  her  net. 

At  this  Flucker,  to  whom  his  lordship's  speech 
appeared  monstrously  weak  and  pointless,  drew  nigh, 
and  gave  the  widow,  in  her  ear,  his  version,  namely,  his 
sister's  embellished.  It  was  briefly  this :  *•  That  the 
gentleman  was  a  daft  lord  from  England,  who  had  come 
with  the  bank  in  his  breeks,  to  remove  poverty  from 
Scotland,  beginning  with  her.  •  Sae  speak  loud  aneuch, 
and  ye'll  no  want  siller,' "  was  his  polite  corollary. 


CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE.  29 

His  lordship  rose,  laid  a  card  on  a  chair,  begged  her 
to  make  use  of  him,  et  cetera  ;  he  then,  recalling  the 
oracular  prescription,  said,  "  Do  me  the  favor  to  apply 
to  me  for  any  little  sum  you  have  a  use  for,  and  in  return 
I  will  beg  of  you  (if  it  does  not  bore  you  too  much)  to 
make  me  acquainted  with  any  little  troubles  you  may 
have  encountered  in  the  course  of  your  life." 

His  lordship,  receiving  no  answer,  was  about  to  go, 
after  bowing  to  her,  and  smiling  gracefully  upon  her. 

His  hand  was  on  the  latch,  when  Jess  Rutherford 
burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

He  turned  with  surprise. 

'^  My  troubles,  laddie,"  cried  she,  trembling  all  over. 
"  The  sun  wad  set,  and  rise,  and  set  again,  ere  I  could 
tell  ye  a'  the  trouble  I  hae  come  through. 

"  Oh  !  ye  need  na  vex  yourself  for  an  auld  wife's 
tears ;  tears  are  a  blessin',  lad,  I  shall  assure  ye. 
Mony's  the  time  I  hae  prayed  for  them,  and  could  na 
hae  them.  Sit  ye  doon !  sit  ye  doon  !  I'll  no  let  ye 
gang  fra  my  door  till  I  hae  thankit  ye  —  but  gie  me 
time,  gie  me  time.  I  canna  greet  a'  the  days  of  the 
week." 

Flucker,  cetat.  14,  opened  his  eyes,  unable  to  connect 
ten  shillings  and  tears. 

Lord  Ipsden  sat  down,  and  felt  very  sorry  for  her. 

And  she  cried  at  her  ease. 

If  one  touch  of  nature  make  the  whole  world  kin, 
methinks  that  sweet  and  wonderful  thing,  sympathy,  is 
not  less  powerful.  What  frozen  barriers,  what  ice  of 
centuries,  it  can  melt  in  a  moment ! 

His  bare  mention  of  her  troubles  had  surprised  the 
widowed  woman's  heart,  and  now  she  looked  up,  and 
examined  his  countenance  ;  it  was  soon  done. 

A  woman,  young  or  old,  high  or  low,  can  discern  and 
appreciate  sensibility  in  a  man's  face,  at  a  single  glance. 


30  CHUISTIK    JOnNSTONB. 

Whiit  slie  saw  tlit-ro  w;us  enough.  She  waa  sure  of 
sympathy.  Blie  recalle<l  her  resolve,  and  the  tale  of  her 
sorrows  hurst  from  hi-r  like  ii  flood. 

Tiion  tlie  old  Hshwit'e  told  the  young  aristocrat  how 
sht'  had  borne  twelve  children,  and  huried  six  as  bairns; 
how  lier  man  was  always  unlucky  ;  how  a  mast  fell  on 
him,  and  disabled  him  a  whole  season;  Ijow  they  could 
but  just  keep  tlir  |tot  l)oiling  by  the  dce{)-sea  fishing, 
and  he  was  not  allowed  to  dredge  for  oysters,  because 
his  father  was  not  a  Newhaven  man.  How,  wlien  the 
hcrrinj^'-lishing  came,  to  make  all  right,  he  never  iiad 
aiiittlit-r  man's  luck  ;  how  his  boat's  crew  would  draw 
empty  nets,  and  a  boat  alongside  him  would  be  gunwale 
down  in  the  wat<T  with  the  fish.  How,  at  last,  one 
morning,  the  L*Oth  day  of  Novembt-r,  his  boat  came  in 
to  Newhaven  IMer  without  him.  and  when  he  was  in- 
(piired  for,  Ids  crew  sai<l,  "  He  had  stayed  at  home,  like 
a  lazy  loon,  and  not  saib'd  with  them  the  niglit  before." 
How  she  was  anxious,  ;ind  had  all  the  ])iiblie-houses 
searched,  "  For  he  took  a  drop  now  ami  then,  nae  wonder, 
and  him  aye  in  the  weather."  Poor  thing !  when  he  was 
alive  she  used  to  call  him  a  drunken  scoundrel  to  his 
face.  How,  when  the  title  went  down,  a  mail  wife,  whose 
husband  had  been  drowned  twenty  years  ag<^  pointed  out 
something  under  the  pier,  that  the  rest  took  for  sea-weetl 
floating  —  how  it  was  the  hair  of  her  man's  head,  washed 
about  by  the  water,  and  he  was  there,  tlrowned  with- 
out a  cry  or  a  struggle,  by  his  enormous  boots,  that 
kept  him  in  an  upright  position,  though  he  was  dead ; 
there  he  stood,  —  dead  —  drowned  by  slipping  from  the 
slippery  pier,  close  to  his  comrades'  hands,  in  a  dark 
and  gusty  night ;  how  her  daughter  married,  and  was 
well-to-do,  and  assisted  her ;  how  she  fell  into  a  rapid 
decline,  and  died,  a  picture  of  health  to  inexperienced 
eyes.     How  she,  the  mother,  saw  and  knew,  and  watched 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  31 

the  treacherous  advance  of  disease  and  death;  how 
others  said  gayly,  "  Her  daughter  was  better,"  and  she 
was  obliged  to  say  "  Yes."  How  she  had  worked,  eigh- 
teen hours  a  day,  at  making  nets  ;  how,  when  she  let  out 
her  nets  to  the  other  men  at  the  herring-fishing,  they 
always  cheated  her,  because  her  man  was  gone.  How 
she  had  many  times  had  to  choose  between  begging  her 
meal  and  going  to  bed  without  it,  but,  thank  Heaven  ! 
she  had  always  chosen  the  latter. 

She  told  him  of  hunger,  cold  and  anguish.  As  she 
spoke  they  became  real  things  to  him ;  up  to  that 
moment  they  had  been  things  in  a  story-book.  And  as 
she  spoke  she  rocked  herself  from  side  to  side. 

Indeed,  she  was  a  woman  "  acquainted  with  grief." 
She  might  have  said,  "  Here  I  and  sorrow  sit !  This  is 
my  throne,  bid  kings  come  and  bow  to  it ! " 

Her  hearer  felt  this,  and  therefore  this  woman,  poor, 
old  and  ugly,  became  sacred  in  his  eye ;  it  was  with  a 
strange  sort  of  respect  that  he  tried  to  console  her. 

He  spoke  to  her  in  tones  gentle  and  sweet  as  the 
south  wind  on  a  summer  evening. 

"  Madam,"  said  he,  "  let  me  be  so  happy  as  to  bring 
you  some  comfort.  The  sorrows  of  the  heart  I  cannot 
heal ;  they  are  for  a  mightier  hand ;  but  a  part  of  your 
distress  appears  to  have  been  positive  need ;  that,  we 
can  at  least  dispose  of,  and  I  entreat  you  to  believe,  that 
from  this  hour  want  shall  never  enter  that  door  again. 
Never  !  upon  my  honor  !  " 

The  Scotch  are  icebergs,  with  volcanoes  underneath ; 
thaw  the  Scotch  ice,  which  is  very  cold,  and  you  shall 
get  to  the  Scotch  fire,  warmer  than  any  sun  of  Italy  or 
Spain. 

His  lordship  had  risen  to  go.  The  old  wife  had 
seemed  absorbed  in  her  own  grief ;  she  now  dried  her 
tears. 


32  CM  HIST  IK    JOHNSTONE. 

"Bide  ye,  sirr,"  said  she,  "till  I  thank  ye." 

So  she  be^an  to  thank  him,  rather  coldly  and  stiffly, 

"He  says  ye  are  a  lord,"  said  she;  "  I  dinna  ken,  an' 
I  d'lnna  care;  but  ye're  a  geutleman,  1  ibnir  s;iy,  and  a 
kind  heart  ye  hae." 

Tln-n  slie  began  to  warm. 

••  .Vnd  ye'll  never  be  a  grain  the  j)Oorer  for  the  siller 
ye  hae  gien  me ;  for  he  that  giveth  to  the  poor  lendeth 
to  the  Lord." 

Then  she  began  to  glow. 

"But  it's  no  your  siller;  dinna  think  it  —  na,  lad,  na  ! 
Oh,  tine  !  I  ken  there'.s  mony  a  suj)j)er  for  the  bairns  and 
me  in  yon  bits  metal ;  but  I  canna  feel  your  siller  as 
I  feel  your  winsome  smile  —  the  drop  in  your  young  een 

—  an'  the  sweet  words  ye  gied  me,  in  the  sweet  music 
o'  your  Soothern  tongue,  Gude  bless  ye  ! "  (Where  was 
her  ice  by  this  time  ?)    "  Gude  bless  ye  I  and  I  bless  ye  ! " 

And  she  did  bless  him;  and  what  a  blessing  it  was; 

—  not  a  melodious  generality,  like  a  stage  ])arent's,  or 
papa's  in  a  damsel's  novel.  It  was  like  the  son  of  Barak 
on  Zophim. 

She  blessed  him,  as  one  who  had  the  power  and  the 
right  to  bless  or  ourse. 

She  stood  on  the  high  ground  of  her  low  estate,  and 
her  afflictions  —  and  demanded  of  their  Creator  to  bless 
the  fellow-creature  that  had  come  to  her  aid  and  consola- 
tion. 

This  woman  had  suffered  to  the  limits  of  endurance  ; 
yesterday  she  had  said,  "  Surely  the  Almighty  does  na 
see  me  a'  these  years  ! '' 

So  now  she  blessed  him,  and  her  heart's  blood  seemed 
to  gush  into  words. 

She  blessed  him  by  land  and  water. 

She  knew  most  mortal  griefs,  for  she  had  felt  them. 

She  warned  them  away  from  him  one  by  one. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  33 

She  knew  the  joys  of  life,  for  she  had  felt  their  want. 

She  summoned  them  one  by  one  to  his  side. 

"  And  a  fair  wind  to  your  ship,"  cried  she ;  "  an'  the 
storms  aye  ten  miles  to  leeward  o'  her." 

Many  happy  days,  "an'  weel  spent,"  she  wished  him. 

"  His  love  should  love  him  dearly,  or  a  better  take  her 
place. 

"  Health  to  his  side  by  day ;  sleep  to  his  pillow  by 
night." 

A  thousand  good  wishes  came  like  a  torrent  of  fire 
from  her  lips,  with  a  power  that  eclipsed  his  dreams  of 
human  eloquence ;  and  then,  changing  in  a  moment  from 
the  thunder  of  a  Pythoness  to  the  tender  music  of  some 
poetess  mother,  she  ended  — 

''An'  0  my  boenny,  boenny  lad,  may  ye  be  wi'  the 
rich  upon  the  airth  a'  your  days,  and  wi'  the  puir  ix 

THE    WARLD    TO    COME  !  " 

His  lordship's  tongue  refused  him  the  thin  phrases  of 
society. 

"Farewell  for  the  present,"  said  he,  and  he  went 
quietly  away. 

He  paced  thoughtfully  home. 

He  had  drunk  a  fact  with  every  sentence,  and  an  idea 
with  every  fact. 

For  the  knowledge  we  have  never  realized  is  not 
knowledge  to  us,  —  only  knowledge's  shadow. 

With  the  banished  duke,  he  now  began  to  feel  "we 
are  not  alone  unhappy  ; "  this  universal  world  contains 
other  guess  sorrows  than  yours,  viscount,  scilicet  than 
unvarying  health,  unbroken  leisure,  and  incalculable 
income. 

Then  this  woman's  eloquence  !  bless  me  I  he  had  seen 

folk  murmur  politely  in  the  Upper  House,  and  drone  or 

hammer  away  at  the  Speaker  down  below,  with  more 

heat  than  warmth. 

Vol.  9—8 


34  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONT.. 

Ho  had  seen  nine  hundred  wihl  beasts  fed  with  peppered 
tongue,  in  a  menagerie  called  U Assemblve  Nationate. 

His  ears  had  rung  often  enough,  for  that  matter. 

This  time  his  heart  beat. 

He  had  been  in  the  principal  courts  of  Europe  ;  knew 
what  a  handful  of  gentlefolks  call  "  the  world ; "  had 
experienced  the  honeyed  words  of  courtiers ;  the  misty 
nothings  of  diplomatists;  and  the  innocent  prattle  of 
mighty  kings. 

But  hitherto  he  st-rnipd  t<i  liavp  iinilcrgone  gibberish 
and  jargon  : 

Gibberish  and  jnrgon  —  INjlitii-al ! 

Gibberish  and  jargon  —  Social ! 

Gibberish  and  jargon  —  Theological ! 

Gibberish  and  jargon  —  Positive  ! 

People  had  been  prating.     Jess  had  spoken. 

But  it  is  to  be  observed  he  was  under  the  double  effect 
of  eloquence  and  novelty ;  and  so  situated,  we  overrate 
things,  you  know. 

That  night  he  made  a  provision  for  this  poor  woman, 
in  case  he  should  die  before  next  week. 

"Wlio  knows?"  said  he,  "she  is  such  an  unlucky 
woman.'' 

Then  he  went  to  bed,  and  whether  from  the  widow's 
blessing,  or  the  air  of  the  place,  he  slept  like  a  plough- 
boy. 

Leaving  Richard,  Lord  Ipsden,  to  work  out  the  Aber- 
ford  problem — to  relieve  poor  people,  one  or  two  of 
whom,  like  the  Rutherford,  were  grateful,  the  rest  acted 
it  to  the  life  —  to  receive  now  and  then  a  visit  from 
Christina  Johnstone,  who  borrowed  every  mortal  book 
in  his  house,  who  sold  him  fish,  invariably  cheated  him 
by  the  indelible  force  of  habit,  and  then  remorsefully 
undid  the  bargain,  with  a  peevish  entreaty  that  "he 
would  not  be  so  green,  for  there  was  no  doing  business 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  35 

with  him,"  —  to  be  fastened  upon  by  Elucker,  who,  with 
admirable  smoothness  and  cunning,  wormed  himself  into 
cabin-boy  on  board  the  yacht,  and  man-at-alms  ashore ; 
to  cruise  in  search  of  adventures,  and  meet  nothing 
but  disappointments  ;  to  acquire  a  browner  tint,  a  lighter 
step,  and  a  jacket,  our  story  moves  for  a  while  towards 
humbler  personages. 


36  CIIRISTIK    JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Jess  Ruthkkk«>ri>,  widow  of  Alexander  Johnstone, 
for  Newhavt'n  wives,  like  great  artists,  change  their  con- 
ditions without  changing  their  names,  was  known  in  the 
town  only  as  a  dour  wife,  a  sour  old  carline.  Whose 
fault  ? 

Do  wooden  faces  and  iron  tongues  tempt  sorrow  to  put 
out  its  snails'  horns  '.' 

She  liardly  spoke  to  any  one,  or  any  one  to  her,  but 
four  days  after  the  visit  we  have  described,  people  began 
to  bend  looks  of  sympathy  on  her,  to  step  out  of  their 
way  to  give  her  a  kindly  good-morrow.  After  a  bit,  lish 
and  meal  used  to  be  ])laced  on  her  table  by  one  neighbor 
or  another  when  she  was  out,  and  so  on.  She  was  at 
first  behindhand  in  responding  to  all  this,  but  by  degrees 
she  thawed  to  those  who  were  thawing  to  her.  Next, 
Saunders  called  on  her,  and  showed  her  a  settlement, 
made  for  lier  benefit,  on  certain  lands  in  Lanarkshire. 
Slie  was  at  ease  for  life. 

The  Almighty  had  seen  her  all  these  years. 

Hut  liow  came  her  neighbors  to  melt  ? 

Because  a  noblemau  had  visited  her. 

Not  exactly,  dear  novel-reader. 

This  was  it. 

That  same  night,  by  a  bright  fire  lighting  wp  snowy 
walls,  burnished  copper,  gleaming  candlesticks,  and  a 
dinner-table  floor,  sat  the  mistress  of  the  house,  Christie 
Johnstone,  and  her  brother,  Flucker. 

She  with  a  book,  he  with  his  reflections  opposite  her. 

"  Lassie,  hae  ye  ouy  siller  past  ye  ?  " 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  37 

"  Ay,  lad,  an'  I  mean  to  keep  it ! " 

The  baddish  boy  had  registered  a  vow  to  the  contrary, 
and  proceeded  to  bleed  his  flint  (for  to  do  Christie  justice 
the  process  was  not  very  dissimilar).  Ehicker  had  a  ver- 
satile genius  for  making  money ;  he  had  made  it  in  forty 
different  ways,  by  land  and  sea,  tenpence  at  a  time. 

"I  hae  gotten  the  life  o'  Jess  Rutherford,  till  ye," 
said  he. 

"  Giest  then." 

"  I'm  seeking  half  a  crown  for  't,"  said  he. 

Now  he  knew  he  should  never  get  half  a  crown;  but 
he  also  knew  that  if  he  asked  a  shilling  he  should  be 
beaten  down  to  fourpence. 

So  half  a  crown  was  his  first  bode. 

The  enemy,  with  anger  at  her  heart,  called  up  a  humor- 
ous smile,  and  saying  "an  ye'U  get  saxpence,"  went 
about  some  household  matter ;  in  reality,  to  let  her  pro- 
posal rankle  in  Flucker. 

Flucker  lighted  his  pipe  slowly,  as  one  who  would  not 
do  a  sister  the  injustice  to  notice  so  trivial  a  proposition. 

He  waited  fresh  overtures. 

They  did  not  come. 

Christie  resumed  her  book. 

Then  the  baddish  boy  fixed  his  eye  on  the  fire,  and 
said  softly  and  thoughtfully  to  the  fire,  "  Hech,  what  a 
heap  o'  troubles  yon  woman  has  come  through." 

This  stroke  of  art  was  not  lost.  Christie  looked  up 
from  her  book,  pretended  he  had  spoken  to  her,  gave  a 
fictitious  yawn,  and  renewed  the  negotiation  with  the 
air  of  one  disposed  to  kill  time. 

She  was  dying  for  the  story. 

Commerce  was  twice  broken  off,  and  renewed  by  each 
power  in  turn. 

At  last  the  bargain  was  struck  at  fourteen  pence. 

Then  Flucker  came  out,  the  honest  merchant. 


38  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

He  had  listened  intently,  with  mercantile  views. 

He  had  the  widow's  sorrows  all  off  i)at. 

He  was  not  a  bit  affected  himself,  but  by  pnre  memory 
he  remembered  where  she  had  been  most  agitated  or 
overcome. 

He  gave  it  Christie,  word  for  word,  and  even  threw  in 
A^hat  dramatists  call  "  the  business,"  thus  : 

"  Here  ye  suld  greet "'  — 

"  Here  ye'll  play  your  hand  like  a  geraffe." 

"  Geraffe  ?     That's  a  beast,  I'm  thinking." 

"Na;  it's  the  thing  on  the  hill  that  maks  signals." 

"  Telegraph,  ye  fulish  goloshen  !  " 

"  Oo  ay,  telegraph  !     Geraffe's  sunest  said  for  a'." 

Thus  Jess  Rutherford's  life  came  into  Christie  John- 
stone's hands. 

She  told  it  to  a  knot  of  the  natives  next  day ;  it  lost 
nothing,  for  she  was  a  woman  of  feeling,  and  by  intui- 
tion an  artist  of  the  tongue.  She  was  the  best  raconteur 
in"  a  place  where  there  are  a  hundred,  male  and  female, 
who  attempt  that  art. 

The  next  day  she  told  it  again,  and  then  inferior  nar- 
rators got  hold  of  it,  and  it  soon  circulated  through  the 
town. 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  the  sudden  sympathy  with 
Jess  Rutherford. 

As  our  prigs  would  say,  — 

"  Art  had  adopted  her  cause  and  adorned  her  tale." 


CHKISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  39 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  fishing  village  of  Newhaven  is  an  unique  place; 
it  is  a  colony  that  retains  disbinct  features  ;  the  people 
seldom  intermarry  with  their  Scotch  neighbors. 

Some  say  the  colony  is  Dutch,  some  Danish,  some 
Flemish.  The  character  and  cleanliness  of  their  female 
costume  points  rather  to  the  latter. 

Fish,  like  horse-flesh,  corrupts  the  mind  and  manners. 

After  a  certain  age,  the  Newhaven  fishwife  is  always 
a  blackguard,  and  ugly ;  but  among  the  younger  speci- 
mens, who  have  not  traded  too  much,  or  come  into  much 
contact  with  larger  towns,  a  charming  modesty,  or  else 
slyness  (such  as  no  man  can  distinguish  from  it,  so  it 
answers  every  purpose),  is  to  be  found,  combined  with 
rare  grace  and  beauty. 

It  is  a  race  of  women  that  the  Northern  sun  peachifies 
instead  of  rosewoodizing. 

On  Sundays  the  majority  sacrifice  appearance  to  fash- 
ion ;  these  turn  out  rainbows  of  silk,  satin,  and  lace.  In 
the  week  they  were  all  grace,  and  no  stays  ;  now  they 
seem  all  stays  and  no  grace.  They  never  look  so  ill  as 
when  they  change  their  "costume"  for  "dress." 

The  men  are  smart  fishermen,  distinguished  from  the 
other  fishermen  of  the  Firth  chiefly  by  their  "  dredging 
song." 

This  old  song  is  money  to  them.     Thus  : 

Dredging  is  practically  very  stiff  rowing  for  ten  hours. 

Now  both  the  Newhaven  men,  and  their  rivals,  are 
agreed  that  this  song  lifts  them  through  more  work  than 
untuned  fishermen  can  manage. 


40  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

I  have  heard  the  song,  and  seen  the  work  done  to  it ; 
and  incline  to  think  it  helps  the  oar,  not  only  by  keeping 
the  time  true,  and  the  spirit  alive,  but  also  by  its  favor- 
able action  on  the  lungs.  It  is  sung  in  a  peculiar  way : 
the  sound  is,  as  it  were,  expelled  from  the  chest  in  a  sort 
of  musical  ejaculations;  and  the  like,  we  know,  was  done 
by  the  ancient  gymnasts,  and  is  done  by  French  bakers, 
in  lifting  tlieir  enormous  dough,  and  by  our  paviors. 

The  song,  in  itself,  does  not  contain  above  seventy 
stock  verses,  but  these  perennial  lines  are  a  nucleus, 
round  which  the  men  improvise  the  topics  of  the  day, 
giving,  I  know  not  for  what  reason,  the  preference  to 
such  as  verge  upon  indelicacy. 

The  men  and  women  are  musical  and  narrative ;  three 
out  of  four  can  sing  a  song  or  tell  a  story,  and  they  omit 
few  opportunities. 

Males  and  females  suck  whiskey  like  milk,  and 
are  quarrelsome  in  proportion ;  the  men  fight  (round 
handed),  the  women  fleicht  or  scold,  in  the  form  of  a 
teapot,  —  the  handle  fixed  and  the  spout  sawing  the  air. 

A  singular  custom  prevails  here. 

The  maidens  have  only  one  sweetheart  apiece  ! 

So  the  whole  town  is  in  pairs. 

The  courting  is  all  done  on  Saturday  niglit,  by  the 
lady's  fire.  It  is  hard  to  keep  out  of  a  groove  in  which 
all  the  town  is  running;  and  the  Johnstone  had  pos- 
sessed, as  mere  property  —  a  lad  ! 

She  was  so  wealthy  that  few  of  them  could  pretend  to 
aspire  to  her,  so  she  selected  for  her  chattel  a  young  man 
called  Willy  Liston ;  a  youth  of  an  unhappy  turn ;  he 
contributed  nothing  to  hilarity,  his  face  was  a  kill-joy, 
nobody  liked  him ;  for  this  female  reason  Christie 
distinguished  him. 

He  found  a  divine  supper  every  Saturday  night,  in 
her  house  :  he  ate,  and  sighed  !  Christie  fed  him,  and 
laughed  at  him. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  41 

Flucker  ditto. 

As  she  neither  fed  nor  laughed  at  any  other  man, 
some  twenty  were  bitterly  jealous  of  Willy  Liston,  and 
this  gave  the  blighted  youth  a  cheerful  moment  or  two. 

But  the  bright  alliance  received  a  check  some  months 
before  our  tale. 

Christie  was  helluo  librorum !  and  like  others  who 
have  that  taste,  and  can  only  gratify  it  in  the  interval 
of  manual  exercise,  she  read  very  intensely  in  her  hours 
of  study.  A  book  absorbed  her.  She  was  like  a  leech 
on  these  occasions,  non  missura  cutem :  even  Jean  Carnie, 
her  coadjutor  or  "  neebor,"  as  they  call  it,  found  it  best 
to  keep  out  of  her  way  till  the  book  was  sucked. 

One  Saturday  night  Willy  Liston's  evil  star  ordained 
that  a  gentleman  of  French  origin  and  Spanish  dress, 
called  Gil  Bias,  should  be  the  Johnstone's  companion. 

Willy  Liston  arrived. 

Christie,  who  had  bolted  the  door,  told  him  from  the 
window,  civilly  enough,  but  decidedly,  "  She  would 
excuse  his  company,  that  night." 

"  Vara  weel,"  said  Willy,  and  departed. 

Next  Saturday  —  no  AVilly  came. 

Ditto  the  next.     Willy  was  waiting  the  amende. 

Christie  forgot  to  make  it. 

One  day  she  was  passing  the  boats,  Willy  beckoned 
her  mysteriously ;  he  led  her  to  his  boat,  which  was 
called  the  "  Christie  Johnstone;"  by  the  boat's  side  was 
a  paint-pot  and  brush. 

They  had  not  supped  together  for  five  Saturdaj^s. 

JErgo,  Mr.  Liston  had  painted  out  the  four  first  letters 
of  "  Christie  ;  "  he  now  prui-eeded  to  paint  out  the  fifth, 
giving  her  to  understand,  that  if  she  allowed  the  whole 
name  to  go,  a  letter  every  blank  Saturday,  her  image 
would  be  gradually,  but  effectually,  obliterated  from  the 
heart  Listoniau. 


42  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

My  reader  has  done,  what  Liston  did  not,  anticipate 
her  answer.  She  recommended  him,  whilst  his  hand  was 
in,  to  paint  out  the  entire  name,  and  with  white  paint 
and  a  smaller  brush,  to  substitute  some  other  female 
appellation.     So  saying,  she  tripped  off. 

Mr.  Liston  on  this  was  guilty  of  the  following  incon- 
sistency ;  he  pressed  the  paint  carefully  out  of  the  brush 
into  the  pot:  having  thus  economized  his  material,  he 
hurled  the  pot  which  contained  his  economy,  at  ''tie 
Johnstone,"  he  tiien  adjourned  to  the  "Peacock,"  and 
"  away  at  once  Avith  love  and  reason." 

Thenceforth,  when  men  asked  who  was  Christie  John- 
stone's lad,  the  answer  used  to  be,  ''  She's  seeking  ane." 
Quelle  horreur  ! 

Newhaven  doesn't  know  everything,  but  my  intelligent 
reader  suspects,  and  if  confirming  his  suspicions  can 
reconcile  him  to  our  facts,  it  will  soon  be  done. 

But  he  must  come  with  us  to  Edinburgh  j  it's  only 
three  miles. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  43 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  LITTLE  band  of  painters  came  into  Edinburgh  from 
a  professional  walk.  Three  were  of  Edinburgh :  Groove, 
aged  fifty ;  Jones  and  Hyacinth,  young ;  the  latter  long- 
haired. 

With  them  was  a  young  Englishman,  the  leader  of  the 
expedition  —  Charles  Gatty. 

His  step  was  elastic,  and  his  manner  wonderfully  ani- 
mated, without  loudness. 

'•'  A  bright  day,"  said  he.  "  The  sun  forgot  where  he 
was,  and  shone ;  everything  was  in  favor  of  art." 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  replied  old  Groove,  "  not  where  I  was." 

"  Why,  what  was  the  matter  ?  " 

"  The  flies  kept  buzzing  and  biting,  and  sticking  in  the 
work  :  that's  the  worst  of  out  o'  doors  I " 

"  The  flies  !  is  that  all  ?  Swear  the  spiders  in  special 
constables  next  time,"  cried  Gatty.  "  We  shall  win  the 
day  :  "  and  light  shot  into  his  hazel  eye. 

"  The  world  will  not  always  put  up  with  the  humbugs  of 
the  brush,  who,  to  imitate  Nature,  turn  their  back  on  her. 
Paint  an  out-o'-door  scene  in-doors  I  I  swear  by  the  sun 
it's  a  lie  I  the  one  stupid,  impudent  lie,  that  glitters 
amongst  the  lies  of  vulgar  art,  like  Satan  amongst  Belial, 
^lammon,  and  all  those  beggars. 

"  Now  look  here  ;  the  barren  outlines  of  a  scene  must 
be  looked  at,  to  be  done  ;  hence  the  sketching  system 
slop-sellers  of  the  Academy !  but  the  million  delicacies 
of  light,  shade,  and  color,  can  be  trusted  to  memory,  can 
they  ?  " 

"  It's  a  lie  big  enough  to  shake  the  earth  out  of  her 


44  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

course ;  if'  any  part  of  the  work  could  be  trusted  to 
memory  or  imagination,  it  happens  to  be  the  bare  out- 
lines, and  they  can't.  The  million  subtleties  of  light  and 
color ;  learn  them  by  heart,  and  say  them  off  on  canvas ! 
the  highest  angel  in  the  sky  must  have  his  eye  upon 
them,  and  look  devilish  sharp,  too,  or  he  shan't  paint 
them  :  I  give  him  Charles  Gatty's  word  for  that." 

*'  That's  very  eloquent,  I  call  it,"  said  Jones. 

"  Yes,"  said  poor  old  Groove,  "  the  lad  will  never  make 
a  painter." 

"  Yes,  I  shall,  Groove ;  at  least  I  hope  so,  but  it  must  be 
a  long  time  first." 

'*  I  never  knew  a  painter  who  could  talk  and  paint 
both,"  explained  Mr.  Groove. 

''  Very  well,"  said  Gatty.  "  Then  I'll  say  but  one  word 
more,  and  it  is  this.  The  artifice  of  painting  is  old 
enough  to  die;  it  is  time  the  art  was  born.  Whenever  it 
does  come  into  the  world,  you  will  see  no  more  dead 
corpses  of  trees,  grass,  and  water,  robbed  of  their  life, 
the  sunlight,  and  flung  upon  canvas  in  a  studio,  by  the 
light  of  a  cigar,  and  a  lie  —  and  "  — 

"  How  much  do  you  expect  for  your  picture  ?  "  inter- 
rupted Jones. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  With  these  little 
swords  (waving  his  brush),  we'll  fight  for  nature-light, 
truth-light,  and  sun-light,  against  a  world  in  arms, — no, 
worse,  in  swaddling-clothes." 

"  With  these  little  swerrds,"  replied  poor  old  Groove, 
"we  shall  cut  our  own  throats  if  we  go  against  people's 
prejudices." 

The  young  artist  laughed  the  old  daubster  a  merry 
defiance,  and  then  separated  from  the  party,  for  his  lodg- 
ings were  down  the  street. 

He  had  not  left  them  long,  before  a  most  musical  voice 
was  heard,  crying, 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  45 

"  A  caallerr  owoo  ! " 

And  two  young  fishwives  hove  in  sight. 

The  boys  recognized  one  of  them  as  Gatty's  sweet- 
heart. 

"  Is  he  in  love  with  her  ?  "  inquired  Jones. 

Hyacinth  the  long-haired  undertook  to  reply. 

"  He  loves  her  better  than  anything  in  the  world, 
except  Art.  Love  and  Art  are  two  beautiful  things," 
whined  Hyacinth. 

"  She,  too,  is  beautiful.  I  have  done  her,"  added  he 
with  a  simper. 

"  In  oil  ?  "  asked  Groove. 

"  In  oil  ?  no,  in  verse,  here,"  and  he  took  out  a  paper. 

"  Then  hadn't  we  better  cut  ?  you  might  propose  read- 
ing them,"  said  poor  old  Groove. 

"  Have  you  any  oysters  ?  "  inquired  Jones  of  the  Carnie 
and  the  Johnstone,  who  were  now  alongside. 

"  Plenty,"  answered  Jean.     "  Hae  ye  ony  siller  ?  " 

The  artists  looked  at  one  another,  and  didn't  all  speak 
at  once. 

"  I,  madam,"  said  old  Groove,  insinuatingly,  to  Christie, 
"am  a  friend  of  Mr.  Gatty's:  perhaps,  on  that  account, 
you  would  lend  me  an  oyster  or  two." 

"  Na,"  said  Jean,  sternly. 

"  Hyacinth,"  said  Jones,  sarcastically,  "  give  them  your 
verses,  perhaps  that  will  soften  them." 

Hyacinth  gave  his  verses,  descriptive  of  herself,  to 
Christie. 

This  youngster  was  one  of  those  who  mind  other 
people's  business. 

Aiienis  studiis  delectatus  contem.psit  suum. 

His  destiny  was  to  be  a  bad  painter,  so  he  wanted  to 
be  an  execrable  poet. 

All  this  morning  he  had  been  doggerelling,  when  he 
ought  to  have  been  daubing;  and  now  he  will  have  to 
sup  off  a  colored  print,  if  he  sups  at  all. 


46  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

Christie  read,  blushed,  and  put  the  verses  in  her  bosom. 

"  Come  awa,  Custy,"  said  Jean. 

"  Hets,"  said  Christie,  "  gie  the  puir  lads  twarree 
oysters,  what  the  waur  will  we  be  ? " 

So  they  opened  oysters  for  them ;  and  Hyacinth,  the 
long-haired,  looked  down  on  the  others  with  sarcastico- 
benignant  superiority.  He  had  conducted  a  sister  art  to 
the  aid  of  his  brother  brushes. 

"  The  poet's  empire,  all  our  hearts  alloAv ; 
But  doggerers  power  was  never  known  till  now." 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  47 


CHAPTER  VII. 

At  the  commencement  of  last  chapter,  Charles  Gatty, 
artist,  was  going  to  usher  in  a  new  state  of  things,  true 
art,  etc.  Wales  was  to  be  painted  in  Wales,  not  Poland 
Street. 

He  and  five  or  six  more  youngsters  were  to  be  in  the 
foremost  files  of  truth,  and  take  the  world  by  storm. 

This  was  at  two  o'clock ;  it  is  now  five ;  whereupon 
the  posture  of  affairs,  the  prospects  of  art,  the  face  of 
the  world,  the  nature  of  things,  are  quite  the  reverse. 
•  In  the  artist's  room,  on  the  floor,  was  a  small  child, 
whose  movements,  and  they  were  many,  were  viewed 
with  huge  dissatisfaction  by  Charles  Gatty,  Esq.  This 
personage,  pencil  in  hand,  sat  slouching  and  morose, 
looking  gloomily  at  his  intractable  model. 

Things  were  going  on  very  badly ;  he  had  been  wait- 
ing two  hours  for  an  infantine  pose,  as  common  as  dirt, 
and  the  little  viper  would  die  first. 

Out  of  doors  everything  was  nothing,  for  the  sun  was 
obscured,  and  to  all  appearance  extinguished  forever. 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Groove/'  cried  he,  to  that  worthy,  who 
peeped  in  at  that  moment;  "you  are  right,  it  is  better 
to  plough  away  upon  canvas  blindfold,  as  our  grand- 
fathers, no,  grandmothers,  used,  than  to  kill  ourselves 
toiling  after  such  coy  ladies  as  Nature  and  Truth." 

"  A  weel,  I  dinna  ken,  sirr,"  replied  Groove,  in  smooth 
tones.  "I  didna  like  to  express  my  warm  approbation 
of  you  before  the  lads,  for  fear  of  making  them  jealous." 

"  They  be  —    No  ! " 

"I  ken  what  ye  wad  say,  sirr,  an  it  wad  hae  been  a 


48  CHRISTIE    .lOHNSTONE. 

vara  just  an'  spriglitly  observaation.  Aweel,  between 
oursels,  I  look  upon  ye  as  a  young  gentleman  of  amazing 
talent  and  moedesty.  Man,  ye  dinna  do  yoursel  justice; 
ye  should  be  in  th'  Academy  —  at  the  hede  o't." 

"Mr.  Groove,  I  am  a  poor  fainting  pilgrim  on  the  road, 
where  stronger  spirits  have  marched  erect  before  me." 

"A  faintin  pelgrim  !  Deil  a  frights  o'  ye,  ye're  a  brisk 
and  bonny  lad.  Ah,  sirr,  in  my  juvenile  days  we  didna 
fash  wi'  nature  and  truth,  an'  the  like." 

"  The  like !  What  is  like  nature  and  truth,  except 
themselves  ?  " 

"  Vara  true,  sirr,  vara  true  ;  and  sae  I  doot  I  will  never 
attain  the  height  o'  profeeciency  ye  hae  reached.  An'  at 
this  vara  moment,  sir,"  continued  Groove,  with  delicious 
solemnity  and  mystery,  ^'ye  see  before  ye,  sir,  a  man 
wha  is  in  maist  dismal  want  —  o'  ten  shellen."  (A  pause.) 
"  If  your  superior  talent  has  put  ye  in  possession  of  that 
sum,  ye  would  obleege  me  infinitely  by  a  temporary 
accommodaation,  ]Mr.  Gaattie." 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  the  point  at  once  ?  "  cried 
Gatty,  brusquely,  "  instead  of  humbling  me  with  unde- 
served praise.  There  "  —  Groove  held  out  his  hand,  but 
made  a  wry  face  when,  instead  of  money,  Gatty  put  a 
sketch  into  his  hand  —  "there,"  said  Gatty,  "that  is  a 
lie." 

"  How  can  it  be  a  lee  ? "  said  the  other,  with  sour 
inadvertence.  "How  can  it  be  a  lee,  when  I  hae  na 
spoken  ?  " 

"  You  don't  understand  me.  That  sketch  is  a  libel  on 
a  poor  cow  and  an  unfortunate  oak-tree.  I  did  them  at 
the  Academy.  ,  They  had  never  done  rae  any  wrong,  poor 
things  ;  they  suffered  unjustly.  You  take  them  to  a 
shop,  swear  they  are  a  tree  and  a  cow,  and  some  fool, 
that  never  really  looked  into  a  cow  or  a  tree,  will  give 
you  ten  shillings  for  them." 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  49 

'  Are  ye  sure,  lad  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure.  Mr.  Groove,  sir,  if  you  cannot  sell  a  lie 
for  ten  shillings,  you  are  not  fit  to  live  in  this  world ; 
where  is  the  lie  that  will  not  sell  for  ten  shillings  ?  " 

"  I  shall  think  the  better  o'  lees  all  my  days,  sir ;  your 
words  are  inspeeriting."  And  away  went  Groove  with 
the  sketch. 

Gatty  reflected,  and  stopped  him. 

"On  second  thoughts,  Groove,  you  must  not  ask  ten 
shillings ;  you  must  ask  twenty  pounds  for  that  rub- 
bish." 

"Twenty  pund!     What  for  will  I  seek  twenty  pund?" 

"  Simply  because  people  that  would  not  give  you  ten 
shillings  for  it  will  offer  you  eleven  pounds  for  it  if  you 
ask  twenty  pounds  " 

"  The  fules,"  roared  Groove.  "  Twenty  pund,  hem  ! " 
He  looked  closer  into  it.  "  For  a',''  said  he,  "  I  begin  to 
obsairve  it  is  a  work  of  great  merit.  I'll  seek  twenty 
pund ;  an'  I'll  no  tak  less  than  fifteen  schelln,  at  present." 

The  visit  of  this  routine  painter  did  not  cheer  our 
artist. 

The  small  child  got  a  coal,  and  pounded  the  floor  with 
it,  like  a  machine  incapable  of  fatigue.  So  the  wished- 
for  pose  seemed  more  remote  than  ever. 

The  day  waxed  darker,  instead  of  lighter ;  Mr.  Gatty's 
reflections  took  also  a  still  more  sombre  hue. 

"Even  Nature  spites  us,"  thought  he,  "because  we 
love  her. 

"  Then  cant,  tradition,  numbers,  slang,  and  money  are 
against  us ;  the  least  of  these  is  singly  a  match  for  truth. 
We  shall  die  of  despair  or  paint  cobwebs  in  Bedlam ;  and 
I  am  faint,  weary  of  a  hopeless  struggle ;  and  one  man's 
brush  is  truer  than  mine,  another's  is  bolder,  —  my  hand 
and  eye  are  not  in  tune.  Ah !  no ;  I  shall  never,  never, 
never  be  a  painter." 
4 


60  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

These  last  words  broke  audibly  from  him,  as  his  head 
went  down  almost  to  his  knees. 

A  hand  was  placed  on  his  shoulder,  as  a  flake  of  snow 
falls  on  the  water.  It  was  Christie  Johnstone,  radiant, 
who  had  glided  in  unobserved. 

"  What's  wrang  wi'  ye,  my  lad  ?  " 

"  The  sun  is  gone  to  the  devil,  for  one  thing." 

"  Hech  !  hech !  ye'll  no  be  long  ahint  him ;  div  ye  no 
think  shame." 

"And  I  want  that  little  brute  just  to  do  so,  and  he'd 
die  first." 

"  Oh,  ye  villain  !  to  ca'  a  bairn  a  brute  ;  there's  but  ae 
brute  here,  an'  it's  no  you,  Jamie,  nor  me ;  is  it,  my 
lamb  ?  " 

She  then  stepped  to  the  window. 

"  It's  clear  to  windward ;  in  ten  minutes  ye'll  hae 
plenty  sun.  Tak  your  tools  noo."  And  at  the  word 
she  knelt  on  the  floor,  whipped  out  a  paper  of  sugar- 
plums, and  said  to  him  she  had  christened  "  Jamie,"  — 
"  Hell !  Here's  sweeties  till  ye."  Out  went  Jamie's 
arms,  as  if  he  had  been  a  machine,  and  she  had  pulled 
the  right  string. 

"  Ah,  that  will  do,"  said  Gatty,  and  sketched  away. 

Unfortunately  Jamie  was  quickly  arrested  on  the  way 
to  immortality  by  his  mother,  who  came  in,  saying,  — 

"  I  maun  hae  my  bairn,  —  he  canna  be  aye  wasting  his 
time  here." 

This  sally  awakened  the  satire  that  ever  lies  ready  in 
piscatory  bosoms. 

"  Wasting  his  time  !  ye're  no  blate.  Oh,  ye'll  be  for 
taking  him  to  the  college  to  laern  pheesick,  —  and  teach 
maenners." 

"Ye  needna  begin  on  me,"  said  the  woman,  "I'm  no 
match  for  Newhaven." 

So  saying  she  cut  short  the  dispute  by  carrying  off  the 
gristle  of  contention. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  51 

"  Another  enemy  to  art,"  said  Gatty,  hurling  away  his 
pencil. 

The  young  fishwife  inquired  if  there  were  any  more 
griefs  :  what  she  had  heard  had  not  acoounted,  to  her 
reason,  for  her  companion's  depression. 

"  Are  ye  sick,  laddy  ?  "  said  she. 

"Xo,  Christie,  not  sick,  but  quite,  quite  down  in  the 
mouth." 

She  scanned  him  thirty  seconds. 

"  What  had  ye  till  your  dinner  ?  " 

"  I  forget." 

"A  choep,  likely?" 

"I  think  it  was." 

"  Or  maybe  it  was  a  steak  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  it  was  a  steak." 

"  Taste  my  girdle  cake,  that  I've  brought  for  ye." 

She  gave  him  a  piece  ;  he  ate  it  rapidly,  and  looked 
gratefully  at  her. 

"  Noo,  div  ye  no  think  shame  to  look  me  in  the  face  ? 
Ye  hae  na  dined  ava."     And  she  wore  an  injured  look. 

"  Sit  ye  there  ;  it's  ower  late  for  dinner,  but  ye'U  get  a 
cup  tea :  doon  i'  the  mooth,  nae  wonder,  when  naething 
gangs  doon  your  "  — 

In  a  minute  she  placed  a  tea-tray,  and  ran  into  the 
kitchen  with  a  teapot. 

The  next  moment  a  yell  was  heard,  and  she  returned 
laughing  with  another  teapot. 

"  The  wife  had  maskit  her  tea  till  hersel',"  said  this 
lawless  forager. 

Tea  and  cake  on  the  table  —  beauty  seated  by  his  side 
—  all  in  less  than  a  minute. 

He  offered  her  a  piece  of  cake. 

"  Na  !  I  am  no  for  any." 

"  Nor  I,  then,"  said  he. 

«  Hets  !  eat,  I  tell  ye." 


52  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

He  replied  by  putting  a  bit  to  her  heavenly  mouth. 

"Ye're  awfu'  opinionated,"  said  she,  with  a  counte- 
nance that  said  nothing  should  induce  her,  and  eating  it 
almost  contemporaneously. 

"Put  plenty  sugar,"  added  she,  referring  to  the  Chinese 
infusion  ;  "mind,  I  hae  a  sweet  tooth." 

"  You  have  a  sweet  set,"  said  he,  approaching  another 
morsel.     ■ 

Tliey  showed  themselves  by  way  of  smile,  and  con- 
lirmed  the  accusation. 

*'  Aha,  lad  !  "  answered  she  ;  "  they've  been  the  death 
o'  mony  a  herrin' !  " 

"  Now,  what  does  that  mean  in  English,  Christie  ?  " 

"  My  grinders  —  (a  full  stop.) 

"  Which  you  approve  —  (a  full  stop.) 

"Have  been  fatal  —  (a  full  stop.) 

"  To  many  fishes  !  " 

Christie  prided  herself  on  her  English,  which  she  had 
culled  from  books. 

Then  he  made  her  drink  from  the  cup,  and  was  osten- 
tatious in  putting  his  lips  to  the  same  part  of  the  brim. 

Then  she  left  the  table,  and  inspected  all  things. 

She  came  to  his  drawers,  opened  one,  and  was  horror- 
struck. 

There  were  coats  and  trousers,  with  their  limbs  inter- 
changeably intertwined,  waistcoats,  shirts,  and  cigars, 
hurled  into  chaos. 

She  instantly  took  the  drawer  bodily  out,  brought  it, 
leaned  it  against  the  tea-table,  pointed  silently  into  it, 
with  an  air  of  majestic  reproach,  and  awaited  the  result. 

"I  can  find  whatever  I  want,"  said  the  unblushing 
bachelor,  "  except  money." 

"  Siller  does  na  bide  wi'  slovens  !  hae  ye  often  siccan 
a  gale  o'  wind  in  your  drawer  ?  " 

"  Every  day  !     Speak  English  ! " 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  53 

"  Aweel !  How  do  you  do  ?  that's  Ennglish  !  I  daur 
say." 

"  Jolly  ! "  cried  he,  with  his  mouth  full. 

Christie  was  now  folding  up  and  neatly  arranging  his 
clothes. 

"  Will  you  ever,  ever  be  a  painter  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  painter  !     I  could  paint  the  devil  pea-green  ! " 

"  Dinna  speak  o'  yon  lad,  Chairles ;  it's  no  canny." 

"  No  !  I  am  going  to  paint  an  angel ;  the  prettiest, 
cleverest  girl  in  Scotland,  'The  Snowdrop  of  the  North.'" 

And  he  dashed  into  his  bedroom  to  find  a  canvas. 

"  Hech  ! "  reflected  Christie.  "  Thir  Ennglish  hae 
flattering  tongues,  as  sure  as  dethe ;  '  The  Snawdrap 
o'  the  Norrth  ! ' " 


54  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Gatty's  back  was  hardly  turned  when  a  visitor  arrived 
and  inquired,  "  Is  Mr.  Gatty  at  home  ?  " 

"  Wliat's  your  will  wi'  him  ?"  was  the  Scottish  reply. 

"  Will  you  give  him  this  ?  " 

"  What  est  ?  " 

"  Are  you  fond  of  asking  questions  ? "  inquired  the 
man. 

'^  Ay,  and  fules  canna  answer  them  !  "  retorted  Christie. 

The  little  document  which  the  man,  in  retiring,  left 
with  Christie  Johnstone,  purported  to  come  from  one 
Victoria,  who  seemed,  at  first  sight,  disposed  to  show 
Charles  Gatty  civilities.  "  Victoria  —  to  Charles  Gatty, 
greeting  !  (salufem)."  Christie  was  much  struck  with 
this  instance  of  royal  affability  ;  she  read  no  farther,  bub 
began  to  think  :  "  Victoree  !  that's  the  Queen  hersel.  A 
letter  fra  the  Queen  to  a  painter  lad  !  Picters  will  rise 
i'  the  mairket  —  it  will  be  an  order  to  paint  the  bairns. 
I  hae  brought  him  luck  ;  I  am  real  pleased."  And  on 
Gatty's  return,  canvas  in  hand,  she  whipped  the  docu- 
ment behind  her,  and  said  archly,  "  I  hae  something  for 
ye  ;  a  tecket  fra  a  leddy  ;  ye'll  no  want  siller  fra  this 
day." 

" Indeed ! " 

"  Ay  !  indeed,  fra  a  great  leddy ;  it's  vara  gude  o'  me 
to  gie  ye  it ;  heh  !  tak  it." 

He  did  take  it,  looked  stupefied,  looked  again,  sunk 
into  a  chair,  and  glared  at  it. 

"  Laddy  ! "  said  Christie. 

"  This  is  a  new  step  on  the  downward  path,"  said  the 
poor  painter. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  55 

"Is  it  no  an  orrder  to  paint  the  young  Frence?"  said 
Christie,  faintly. 

"No!"  almost  shrieked  the  victim.  "It's  a  writ!  1 
owe  a  lot  of  money." 

"  0  Chairles  ! " 

"  See  !  I  borrowed  sixty  pounds  six  months  ago  of  a 
friend,  so  now  I  owe  eighty  ! " 

"  All  right !  "  giggled  the  unfriendly  visitor  at  the 
door,  whose  departure  had  been  more  or  less  ficti- 
tious. 

Christie,  by  an  impulse,  not  justifiable,  but  natural, 
drew  her  oyster-knife  out,  and  this  time  the  man  really 
went  away. 

"  Hairtless  mon  !  "  cried  she,  "  could  he  no  do  his  ain 
dirrty  work,  and  no  gar  me  gie  the  puir  lad  th'  action, 
and  he  likeit  me  sae  weel ! "  and  she  began  to  Avhimper. 

"  And  love  you  more  now,"  said  he ;  "  don't  you  cry, 
dear,  to  add  to  my  vexation." 

"Na!  I'll  no  add  to  your  vexation,"  and  she  gulped 
down  her  tears. 

"Besides,  I  have  pictures  painted  worth  two  hundred 
pounds  ;  this  is  only  for  eighty.  To  be  sure  you  can't 
sell  them  for  two  hundred  pence  when  you  want.  So  I 
shall  go  to  jail,  but  they  won't  keep  me  long." 

Then  he  took  a  turn,  and  began  to  fall  into  the  artistic, 
or  true  view  of  matters,  which,  indeed,  was  never  long 
absent  from  him. 

"'  Look  here,  Christie,"  said  he,  "  I  am  sick  of  conven- 
tional assassins,  humbugging  models,  with  dirty  beards, 
that  knit  their  brows,  and  tr}'  to  look  murder ;  they  never 
murdered  so  much  as  a  tomcat :  I  always  go  in  for  the 
real  thing,  and  here  I  shall  find  it." 

"Dinna  gang  in  there,  lad,  for  ony  favor." 

"  Then  I  shall  find  the  accessories  of  a  picture  I  have 
in   my  head  —  chains  with   genuine  rust,  and   ancient 


56  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

mouldering  stones,  with  the  stains  of  time."  His  eye 
brightened  at  the  prospect. 

"  You  among  fiefs,  and  chains,  and  stanes  !  Ye'll  break 
my  hairt,  kiddy,  ye'll  no  be  easy  till  you  break  my 
hairt : "  and  this  time  the  tears  would  not  be  denied. 

"  I  love  you  for  crying ;  don't  cry  ; "  and  he  fished 
from  the  chaotic  drawer  a  cambric  handkerchief,  with 
which  he  dried  her  tears  as  they  fell. 

It  is  my  firm  belief  she  cried  nearly  twice  as  much  as 
she  really  wanted  to ;  she  contrived  to  make  the  grief 
hers,  the  sympathy  his.  Suddenly  she  stopped,  and 
said,  — 

"I'm  daft;  ye'll  accept  a  lane  o'  the  siller  fra  me,  will 
ye  no  ?  " 

''  No  !  "  said  he.  "  And  where  could  you  find  eighty 
pound  ?  " 

"  Auchty  pund,"  cried  she,  "  it's  no  auchty  pund  that 
will  ding  Christie  Johnstone,  laddy.  I  hae  boats  and  nets 
worth  twa  aucht3'S ;  and  I  hae  forty  pund  laid  by ;  and 
I  hae  seven  hundred  pund  at  London,  but  that  I  canna 
meddle.  My  feyther  lent  it  the  King  or  the  Queen,  I 
dinna  justly  mind ;  she  pays  me  the  interest  twice  the 
year.  Sae  ye  ken  I  could  na  be  sae  dirty  as  seek  my 
siller,  when  she  pays  me  th'  interest :  to  the  very  day, 
ye  ken.  She's  just  the  only  one  o'  a'  my  debtors  that's 
hoenest,  but  never  heed,  ye'll  no  gang  to  jail." 

"  I'll  hold  my  tongue,  and  sacrifice  my  pictures," 
thought  Charles. 

"  Cheer  up ! "  said  Christie,  mistaking  the  nature  of 
his  thoughts,  "  for  it  did  na  come  fra  Victoree  hersel'. 
It  wad  smell  o'  the  musk,  ye  ken.  Na,  it's  just  a  wheen 
blackguards  at  London  that  makes  use  o'  her  name  to 
torment  puir  folk.  Wad  she  pairsecute  a  puir  lad  ? 
No  likely." 

She  then  asked  questions,  some  of  which  were  embar- 


CHJIISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  57 

rassing.  One  thing  he  could  never  succeed  in  making 
her  understand,  how,  since  it  was  sixty  pounds  he  bor- 
rowed, it  could  be  eighty  pounds  he  owed. 

Then  once  more  she  promised  him  her  protection,  bade 
him  be  of  good  cheer,  and  left  him. 

At  the  door  she  turned,  and  said,  "Chairles,  here's  an 
auld  wife  seeking  ye,"  and  vanished. 

These  two  young  people  had  fallen  acquainted  at  a 
Newhaven  wedding.  Christie,  belonging  to  no  one,  had 
danced  with  him  all  the  night,  they  had  walked  under 
the  stars  to  cool  themselves,  for  dancing  reels  with  heart 
and  soul  is  not  quadrilling. 

Then  he  had  seen  his  beautiful  partner  in  Edinburgh, 
and  made  a  sketch  of  her,  Avhich  he  gave  her ;  and  by 
and  by  he  used  to  run  down  to  Newhaven,  and  stroll 
up  and  down  a  certain  green  lane  near  the  town. 

Next,  on  Sunday  evenings,  a  long  walk  together,  and 
then  it  came  to  visits  at  his  place  now  and  then. 

And  here  Raphael  and  Fornarina  were  inverted,  our 
artist  used  to  work,  and  Christie  tell  him  stories  the 
while. 

And  as  her  voice  curled  round  his  heart,  he  used  to 
smile  and  look,  and  lay  inspired  touches  on  his  subject. 

And  she,  an  artist  of  the  tongue  (without  knowing 
herself  one),  used  to  make  him  grave,  or  ga}',  or  sad,  at 
will,  and  watch  the  effect  of  her  art  upon  his  counte- 
nance; and  a  very  pretty  art  it  is  —  the  vird  voce  story- 
tellers —  and  a  rare  one  amongst  the  nations  of  Europe. 

Christie  had  not  learned  it  in  a  day  ;  when  she  began, 
she  used  to  tell  them  like  the  other  Newhaven  people, 
with  a  noble  impartiality  of  detail,  wearisome  to  the 
hearer. 

But  latterly  she  had  learned  to  seize  the  salient  parts 
of  a  narrative  ;  her  voice  had  compass,  and,  like  all  fino 
speakers,  she  travelled  over  a  great  many  notes  in  speak- 


58  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

ing ;  her  low  tones  were  gorgeously  rich,  her  upper  tones 
full  and  sweet ;  all  this,  and  her  beauty,  made  the  hours 
she  gave  him  very  sweet  to  our  poor  artist. 

He  was  wont  to  bask  in  her  music,  and  tell  her  in 
return  how  he  loved  her,  and  how  happy  they  were  both 
to  be  as  soon  as  he  had  acquired  a  name,  for  a  name  was 
wealth,  he  told  her.  And  although  Christie  Johnstone 
did  not  let  him  see  how  much  she  took  all  this  to  heart 
and  believed  it,  it  was  as  sweet  music  to  her,  as  her  own 
honeysuckle  breath  to  him. 

She  improved  him. 

He  dropped  cigars,  and  medical  students,  and  similar 
abominations. 

Christie's  cool,  fresh  breath,  as  she  hung  over  him 
while  painting,  suggested  to  him  that  smoking  might, 
peradventure,  be  a  sin  against  nature  as  well  as  against 
cleanliness. 

And  he  improved  her ;  she  learned  from  art  to  look 
into  nature  (the  usual  process  of  mind). 

She  had  noticed  too  little  the  flickering  gold  of  the 
leaves  at  evening,  the  purple  hills,  and  the  shifting 
stories  and  glories  of  the  sky ;  but  now,  whatever  she 
saw  him  try  to  imitate,  she  learned  to  examine.  She 
was  a  woman,  and  admired  sunset,  etc.,  for  this  boy's 
sake,  and  her  whole  heart  expanded  with  a  new  sensation 
that  softened  her  manner  to  all  the  world,  and  brightened 
her  personal  rays. 

This  charming  picture  of  mutual  affection  had  hitherto 
been  admired  only  by  those  who  figured  in  it. 

But  a  visitor  had  now  arrived  on  purpose  to  inspect  it, 
etc.,  attracted  by  report.- 

A  friend  had  considerately  informed  Mrs.  Gatty,  the 
artist's  mother,  and  she  had  instantly  started  from 
Newcastle. 

This  was  the  old  lady  Christie  discovered  on  the  stairs. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  59 

Her  sudden  appearance  took  her  son's  breath  away. 

Ko  human  event  was  less  likely  than  that  she  should 
be  there,  yet  there  she  was. 

After  the  first  surprise  and  affectionate  greetings,  a 
misgiving  crossed  him,  "  Slie  must  know  about  the  writ." 
It  was  impossible;  but  our  minds  are  so  constituted, 
when  we  are  guilty,  we  fear  that  others  know  what  we 
know. 

Now  Gatty  was  particularly  anxious  she  should  not 
know  about  this  writ,  for  he  had  incurred  the  debt  by 
acting  against  her  advice. 

Last  year  he  commenced  a  picture  in  which  was  Dur- 
ham Cathedral:  his  mother  bade  him  stay  qviietly  at 
home,  and  paint  the  cathedral  and  its  banks  from  a 
print,  "  as  any  other  painter  would,"  observed  she. 

But  this  was  not  the  lad's  system :  he  spent  five 
months  on  the  spot,  and  painted  his  picture,  but  he  had 
to  borrow  sixty  pounds  to  do  this ;  the  condition  of  this 
loan  was,  that  in  six  months  he  should  either  pay  eighty 
pounds,  or  finish,  and  hand  over,  a  certain  half-finished 
picture. 

He  did  neither ;  his  new  subject  thrust  aside  his  old 
one,  and  he  had  no  money;  ergo  his  friend,  a  picture- 
dealer,  who  had  found  artists  slippery  in  money-matters, 
followed  him  up  sharp,  as  we  see. 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  I  hope,  mother.  What 
is  it  ?  " 

"I'm  tired,  Charles."  He  brought  her  a  seat:  she  sat 
down. 

"  I  did  not  come  from  Newcastle  at  my  age  for  noth- 
ing ;  you  have  formed  an  improper  acquaintance." 

« I,  who  ?     Is  it  Jack  Adams  ?  " 

"  "Worse  than  any  Jack  Adams  ! " 

"  Who  can  that  be  ?  Jenkyns,  mother,  because  he 
does  the  same  things  as  Jack,  and  pretends  to  be  reli- 
gious." 


GO  CHRISTIE   JOHXi^TONE. 

"  It  is  a  female,  —  a  fishwife.     0  my  son  ! " 

"  Christie  Johnstone  an  improper  acquaintance  ! "  said 
he :  "  why,  T  was  good  for  nothing  till  I  knew  her ;  she 
has  made  me  so  good,  mother,  so  steady,  so  industrious, 
you  will  never  have  to  find  fault  with  me  again." 

"  Nonsense  !  a  woman  that  sells  fish  in  the  streets  !  " 

"  But  you  have  not  seen  her.  She  is  beautiful ;  her 
mind  is  not  in  fish :  her  mind  grasps  the  beautiful  and 
the  good :  she  is  a  companion  for  princes .'  What  am  I 
that  she  wastes  a  thought  or  a  ray  of  music  on  me  ? 
Heaven  bless  her  !  She  reads  our  best  authors,  and 
never  forgets  a  word ;  and  she  tells  me  beautiful  stories, 
—  sometimes  they  make  me  cry,  for  her  voice  is  a  music 
that  goes  straight  to  my  heart." 

"  A  woman  that  does  not  even  wear  the  clothes  of  a 
lady." 

"It  is  the  only  genuine  costume  in  these  islands  not 
beneath  a  painter's  notice." 

"Look  at  me,  Charles  ;  at  3'our  mother." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  he  nervously. 

"You  must  part  with  her,  or  kill  me." 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  began  to  flutter  up  and 
down  the  room.  Poor  excitable  creature!  "Part  with 
her ! "  cried  he ;  "I  shall  never  be  a  painter  if  I  do ; 
what  is  to  keep  my  heart  warm  when  the  sun  is  hid, 
when  the  birds  are  silent,  when  difficulty  looks  a  mount- 
ain, and  success  a  molehill  ?  What  is  an  artist  without 
love  ?  How  is  he  to  bear  up  against  his  disappointments 
from  within,  his  mortification  from  without  ?  the  great 
ideas  he  has  and  cannot  grasp,  and  all  the  forms  of  igno- 
rance that  sting  him,  from  stupid  insensibility  down  to 
clever,  shallow  criticism  ?  " 

"'  Come  back  to  common-sense,"  said  the  old  lady 
coldly  and  grimly. 

He    looked   uneasy ;    common-sense   had   often   been 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  61 

quoted  against  him,  and  common-sense  had  always  proved 
right. 

"  Come  back  to  common-sense.  She  shall  not  be  your 
mistress,  and  she  cannot  bear  your  name  :  you  must  part 
some  day,  because  you  cannot  come  together,  and  now  is 
the  best  time." 

"Not  be  together?  all  our  lives,  all  our  lives,  ay," 
cried  he,  rising  into  enthusiasm,  "  hundreds  of  years  to 
come  will  we  two  be  together  before  men's  eyes.  I  will 
be  an  immortal  painter,  that  the  world  and  time  may 
cherish  the  features  I  have  loved.  I  love  her,  mother," 
added  he,  with  a  tearful  tenderness  that  ought  to  have 
reached  a  woman's  heart;  then  flushing,  trembling,  and 
inspired  he  burst  out,  "  And  I  wish  I  was  a  sculptor  and 
a  poet  too,  that  Christie  might  live  in  stone  and  verse,  as 
well  as  colors,  and  all  who  love  an  art  might  say,  '  This 
woman  cannot  die  :  Charles  Gatty  loved  her.'  " 

He  looked  in  her  face  :  he  could  not  believe  any  creat- 
ure could  be  insensible  to  his  love,  and  persist  to  rob 
him  of  it. 

The  old  woman  paused  to  let  his  eloquence  evaporate. 

The  pause  chilled  him  ;  then  gently  and  slowl}-,  but 
emphatically,  she  spoke  to  him  thus :  — 

"  Who  has  kept  you  on  her  small  means  ever  since  you 
were  ten  years  and  seven  months  old  ?  " 

"  You  should  know,  mother,  dear  mother." 

"Answer  me,  Charles," 

"  My  mother." 

"  Who  has  pinched  herself  in  every  earthly  thing,  to 
make  you  an  immortal  painter,  and,  above  all,  a  gentle- 
man ?  " 

"  My  mother." 

"Who  forgave  you  the  little  faults  of  youth,  before 
you  could  ask  pardon  ?  " 

"My  mother.      0  mother,  I  ask   pardon  now  for  all 


62  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

the  trouble  I  ever  gave  the  best,  the  dearest,  the  tender- 
est  of  mothers." 

"  Who  will  go  home  to  Newcastle  a  broken-hearted 
woman,  with  the  one  hope  gone  that  has  kept  her  up  in 
poverty  and  sorrow  so  many  weary  years,  if  this  goes 
on?" 

"  Nobody,  I  hope." 

"  Yes,  Charles  :  your  mother." 

"  0,  mother ;  you  have  been  always  my  best  friend." 

"And  am  this  day." 

"  Do  not  be  my  worst  enemy  now  :  it  is  for  me  to 
obey  you,  but  it  is  for  you  to  think  well  before  you  drive 
rae  to  despair." 

And  the  poor  womanish  heart  leaned  his  head  on  the 
table,  and  began  to  sorrow  over  his  hard  fate. 

Mrs.  Gatty  soothed  him.  "  It  need  not  be  done  all  in 
a  moment.  It  must  be  done  kindly  but  firmly.  I  will 
give  you  as  much  time  as  you  like." 

This  bait  took  —  the  weak  love  to  temporize. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  lie  honestly  intended  to  part 
with  Christie  Johnstone,  but  to  pacify  his  mother  he 
promised  to  begin  and  gradually  untie  the  knot. 

"  My  mother  will  go,"  whispered  his  deceitful  heart, 
"  and  when  she  is  away,  perhaps  I  shall  find  out  that  in 
spite  of  every  effort  I  cannot  resign  my  treasure." 

He  gave  a  sort  of  half-promise  for  the  sake  of  peace. 

His  mother  instantly  sent  to  the  inn  for  her  boxes. 

"  There  is  a  room  in  this  same  house,"  said  she ;  "  I 
will  take  it :  I  will  not  hurry  you,  but  until  it  is  done,  I 
stay  here,  if  it  is  a  twelvemonth  about." 

He  turned  pale. 

"  And  now  hear  the  good  news  I  have  brought  you 
from  Newcastle." 

Oh,  these  little  iron  wills !  how  is  a  great  artist  to 
fight  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  against  such  an 
antagonist  ? 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  63 

Every  day  saw  a  repetition  of  these  dialogues  in  which 
genius  made  gallant  bursts  into  the  air,  and  strong,  hard 
sense  caught  him  on  his  descent,  and  dabbed  glue  on  his 
gauzy  wings. 

Old  age  and  youth  see  life  so  differently. 

To  youth  it  is  a  story-book,  in  which  we  are  to  com- 
mand the  incidents,  and  be  the  bright  exceptions  to  one 
rule  after  another. 

To  age  it  is  an  almanac,  in  which  everything  will 
happen  just  as  it  has  happened  so  many  times. 

To  youth,  it  is  a  path  through  a  sunny  meadow. 

To  age,  a  hard  turnpike  : 

Whose  travellers  must  be  all  sweat  and  dust,  when 
they  are  not  in  mud  and  drenched  : 

Which  wants  mending  in  many  places,  and  is  mended 
with  sharp  stones. 

Gatty  would  not  yield  to  go  down  to  Newhaven,  and 
take  a  step  against  his  love,  but  he  yielded  so  far  as  to 
remain  passive,  and  see  whether  this  creature  was  neces- 
sary to  his  existence  or  not. 

Mrs.  G.  scouted  the  idea. 

"  He  was  to  work,  and  he  would  soon  forget  her." 

Poor  boy  !  he  wanted  to  work ;  his  debt  weighed  on 
him  :  a  week's  resolute  labor  might  finish  his  first 
picture  and  satisfy  his  creditor.  The  subject  was  an 
interior.  He  set  to  work,  he  stuck  to  work,  he  glued 
to  work,  his  body  —  but  his  heart  ? 

Ah,  my  poor  fellow,  a  much  slower  horse  than  Gatty 
will  go  by  you,  ridden  as  you  are  by  a  leaden  heart. 

Tti  nihil  iiivitd  fades  pingcsve  Minervd. 

It  would  not  lower  a  mechanical  dog's  efforts,  but  it 
must  yours. 

He  was  unhappy.     He  heard  only  one  side  for  days ; 


64  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

that  side  was  recommended  by  his  duty,  filial  affection, 
and  diffidence  of  his  own  good  sense. 

He  was  brought  to  see  his  proceedings  were  eccentric, 
and  that  it  is  destruction  to  be  eccentric. 

He  was  made  a  little  ashamed  of  what  he  had  been 
proud  of. 

He  was  confused  and  perplexed ;  he  hardly  knew  what 
to  think  or  do ;  he  collapsed,  and  all  his  spirit  was  fast 
leaving  him,  and  then  he  felt  inclined  to  lean  on  the 
first  thing  he  could  find,  and  nothing  came  to  hand  but 
his  mother. 

Meantime,  Christie  Johnstone  was  also  thinking  of 
him,  but  her  single  anxiety  was  to  find  this  eighty 
pounds  for  him. 

It  is  a  Xewhaven  idea  that  the  female  is  the  natural 
protector  of  the  male,  and  this  idea  was  strengthened  in 
her  case. 

She  did  not  fully  comprehend  his  character  and  tem- 
perament, but  she  saw,  by  instinct,  that  she  was  to  be 
the  protector. 

Besides,  as  she  was  twenty-one,  and  he  only  twenty- 
two,  she  felt  the  difference  between  herself  —  a  woman, 
and  him  —  a  boy,  and  to  leave  him  to  struggle  unaided 
out  of  his  difficulties,  seemed  to  her  heartless. 

Twice  she  opened  her  lips  to  engage  the  charitable 
"  Vile  Count "  in  his  cause,  but  shame  closed  them 
again ;  this  would  be  asking  a  personal  favor,  and  one 
on  so  large  a  scale. 

Several  days  passed  thus ;  she  had  determined  not  to 
visit  him  without  good  news. 

She  then  began  to  be  surprised,  she  heard  nothing 
from  him. 

And  now  she  felt  something  that  prevented  her  calling 
on  him. 

But  Jean  Carnie  was  to  be  married,  and  the  next  day 


CHKlSTiE   JOHl^STONE.  65 

the  wedding  party  were  to  spend  in  festivity  upon  the 
island  of  Inch  Coombe. 

She  bade  Jean  call  on  him,  and  without  mentioning 
her,  invite  him  to  this  part}^,  from  which,  he  must  know, 
she  would  not  be  absent. 

Jean  Caruie  entered  his  apartment,  and  at  her  en- 
trance, his  mother,  who  took  for  granted,  this  was  his 
sweetheart,  whispered  in  his  ear  that  he  should  now  take 
the  first  step,  and  left  him. 

What  passed  between  Jean  Carnie  and  Charles  Gatty 
is  for  another  chapter. 


Vol.  9—9 


66  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTOITB. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A  YOUNG  viscount  with  income  and  person  cannot  lie 
perdu  three  miles  from  Edinburgh. 

First  one  discovers  him,  then  another,  then  twenty, 
then  all  the  world,  as  the  whole  clique  is  modestly  called. 

Before,  however.  Lord  Ipsden  was  caught,  he  had 
acquired  a  browner  tint,  a  more  elastic  step,  and  a 
stouter  heart. 

The  Aberford  prescription  had  done  wonders  for 
him. 

He  caught  himself  passing  one  whole  day  without 
thinking  of  Lady  Barbara  Sinclair. 

But  even  Aberford  had  misled  him  ;  there  were  no 
adventures  to  be  found  in  the  Firth  of  Forth ;  most  of 
the  days  there  was  no  wind  to  speak  of ;  twice  it  blew 
great  guns,  and  the  men  were  surprised  at  his  lordship 
going  out,  but  nobody  was  in  any  danger  except  himself; 
the  fishermen  had  all  slipped  into  port  before  matters 
were  serious. 

He  found  the  merchantmen  that  could  sail  creeping 
on  with  three  reefs  in  their  mainsail ;  and  the  Dutchmen 
lying  to  and  breasting  it,  like  ducks  in  a  pond,  and  with 
no  more  chance  of  harm. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  he  did  observe  a  little 
steam-tug,  going  about  a  knot  an  hour,  and  rolling  like  a 
washing-tub.  He  ran  down  to  her,  and  asked  if  he  could 
assist  her ;  she  answered  through  the  medium  of  a  sooty 
animal  at  her  helm,  that  she  was  (like  our  universities) 
'' satisfied  with  her  own  progress;"  she  added,  being 
under   intoxication^   "  that   if   any  danger   existed,  her 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  67 

scheme  was  to  drown  it  in  the  bo-o-owl ;  "  and  two  days 
afterwards,  he  saw  her  puffing  and  panting,  and  fiercely 
dragging  a  gigantic  three-decker  out  into  deep  water, 
like  an  industrious  flea  pulling  his  phaeton. 

And  now  it  is  my  office  to  relate  how  Mr.  Flucker 
Johnstone  comported  himself  on  one  occasion. 

As  the  yacht  worked  alongside  Granton  Pier,  before 
running  out,  the  said  Flucker,  calmly  and  scientificallj'', 
drew  his  lordship's  attention  to  three  points : 

The  direction  of  the  wind  —  the  force  of  the  wind  — • 
and  his  opinion,  as  a  person  experienced  in  the  Firth, 
that  it  was  going  to  be  worse  instead  of  better;  in  reply, 
he  received  an  order  to  step  forward  to  his  place  in  the 
cutter  —  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  jib-boom.  On 
this  Mr.  Flucker  instantly  burst  into  tears. 

His  lordship,  or  as  Flucker  called  him,  ever  since 
the  yacht  came  down,  ''  the  skipper,"  deeming  that  the 
higher  appellation,  inquired,  with  some  surprise,  wha,t 
was  the  matter  with  the  boy  ? 

One  of  the  crew,  who,  by-the-by,  squinted,  suggested 
"  it  was  a  slight  illustration  of  the  passion  of  fear." 

Flucker  confirmed  the  theory  by  gulping  out,  "  We'll 
never  see  Newhaven  again." 

On  this  the  skipper  smiled,  and  ordered  him  ashore, 
somewhat  peremptorily. 

Straightway  he  began  to  howl,  and  saying  "  It  was 
better  to  be  drowned  than  be  the  laughing-stock  of 
the  place,"  went  forward  to  his  place ;  on  his  safe  return 
to  port,  this  young  gentleman  was  very  severe  on  open 
boats,  which  he  said  "bred  womanish  notions  in  hearts 
naturally  dauntless.  Give  me  a  lid  to  the  pot,"  added 
he,  "  and  I'll  sail  with  Old  Nick,  let  the  wind  blow  high 
or  low." 

The  Aberford  was  wrong  when  he  called  love  a  cuta- 
neous disorder. 


68  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

There  are  cutaneous  disorders  that  take  that  name, 
but  they  are  no  more  love  than  verse  is  poetry  ; 

Than  patriotism  is  love  of  country  ; 

Than  theology  is  religion  ; 

Than  science  is  philosophy  ; 

Than  paintings  are  pictures  ; 

Than  reciting  on  the  boards  is  acting ; 

Than  physic  is  medicine ; 

Than  bread  is  bread,  or  gold,  gold  —  in  shops. 

Love  is  a  state  of  being ;  the  beloved  object  is  our 
centre  ;  and  our  thoughts,  affections,  schemes,  and  selves, 
move  but  round  it. 

We  may  diverge  hither  or  thither,  but  the  golden 
thread  still  holds  us. 

Is  fair  or  dark  beauty  the  fairest  ?  The  world  cannot 
decide ;  but  love  shall  decide  in  a  moment. 

A  halo  surroiinds  her  we  love,  and  makes  beautiful  to 
us  her  movements,  her  looks,  her  virtues,  her  faults,  her 
nonsense,  her  affectation,  and  herself,  and  that's  love, 
doctor ! 

Lord  Ipsden  was  capable  of  loving  like  this,  but  to  do 
Lady  Barbara  justice,  she  had  done  much  to  freeze  the 
germ  of  noble  passion ;  she  had  not  killed,  but  she  had 
benumbed  it. 

"  Saunders,"  said  Lord  Ipsden,  one  morning  after  break- 
fast, "  have  you  entered  everything  in  your  diary  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"  All  these  good  people's  misfortunes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  spelt  their  names  right  ?  " 

"  Where  it  was  impossible,  my  lord,  I  substituted  an 
English  appellation  hidentical  in  meaning." 

"  Have  you  entered  and  described  my  first  interview 
with  Christie  Johnstone,  and  somebody  something  ?  " 

"  Most  minutely,  my  lord." 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  69 

"How  1  turned  Mr.  Burke  into  poetry  — how  she  lis- 
tened with  her  eyes  all  glistening  —  how  they  made  me 
talk  —  how  she  dropped  a  tear,  he  !  he!  he!  at.  the  death 
of  the  first  baron  —  how  shocked  she  was  at  the  king 
striking  him  when  he  was  dying,  to  make  a  knight- 
banneret  of  the  poor  old  fellow  ?  " 

"  Your  lordship  will  find  all  the  particulars  exactly 
related,"  said  Saunders,  with  dry  pomp. 

"  How  she  found  out  that  titles  are  but  breath  —  how 
I  answered —  some  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Your  lordship  will  find  all  the  topics  included." 

"How  she  took  me  for  a  madman?  And  you  for  a 
prig?" 

"The  latter  circumstance  eluded  my  memory,  my 
lord." 

"  But  when  I  told  her  I  must  relieve  only  one  poor 
person  by  day,  she  took  my  hand." 

"  Your  lordship  will  find  all  the  items  realized  in  this 
book,  my  lord." 

"  What  a  beautiful  book  ! " 

"  Alba  are  considerably  ameliorated,  my  lord." 

"  Alba  ?  " 

"Plural  of  album,  my  lord,"  explained  the  refined 
factotum,  "more  delicate,  I  conceive,  than  the  vulgar 
reading." 

Viscount  Ipsden  read  from  Mb.  Saunders's  Album  : 

"To  illustrate  the  inelegance  of  the  inferior  classes, 
two  juvenile  venders  of  the  piscatory  tribe  were  this  day 
ushered  in,  and  instantaneously,  without  the  accustomed 
preliminaries,  plunged  into  a  familiar  conversation  with 
Lord  Viscount  Ipsden. 

"  Their  vulgarity,  shocking  and  repulsive  to  myself, 
aj^peared  to  afford  his  lordship  a  satisfaction  greater  than 
he  derives  from  the  graceful  amenities  of  fashionable 
association  "  — 


70  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

"  Saunders,  I  suspect  you  of  something." 

"  Me,  my  lord  !  " 

"Yes.     Writing  in  an  annual." 

"I  do,  my  lord,"  said  he  with  benignant  hauteur.  "It 
appears  every  month  — '  The  Pol3'technic.' " 

"  I  thought  so !  you  are  polysyllabic,  Saunders ;  en 
route  !  " 

"  In  this  hallucination  I  find  it  difficult  to  participate ; 
associated  from  infancy  with  the  aristocracy,  I  shrink, 
like  the  sensitive  plant,  from  contact  with  anything 
vulgar." 

"  I  see  !  I  begin  to  understand  you,  Saunders.  Order 
the  dog-cart,  and  Wordsworth's  mare  for  leader;  we'll 
give  her  a  trial.     You  are  an  ass,  Saunders." 

"  Yes,  my  lord ;  I  will  order  Robert  to  tell  James  to 
come  for  your  lordship's  commands  about  your  lordship's 
vehicles.  (What  could  he  intend  by  a  recent  observation 
of  a  discourteous  character  ?)" 

His  lordship  soliloquized. 

"  I  never  observed  it  before,  but  Saunders  is  an  ass ; 
La  Johnstone  is  one  of  nature's  duchesses,  and  she  has 
made  me  know  some  poor  people  that  will  be  richer  than 
the  rich  one  day ;  and  she  has  taught  me  that  honey  is 
to  be  got  from  bank-notes  —  by  merely  giving  them 
away." 

Amongst  the  objects  of  charity  Lord  Ipsden  dis- 
covered, was  one  Thomas  Harvey,  a  maker  and  player  of 
the  violin.  This  man  was  a  person  of  great  intellect ; 
he  mastered  every  subject  he  attacked.  By  a  careful 
examination  of  all  the  points  that  various  fine-toned 
instruments  had  in  common,  he  had  arrived  at  a  theory 
of  sound;  he  made  violins  to  correspond,  and  was  re- 
markably successful  in  insuring  that  which  had  been  too 
hastily  ascribed  to  accident  —  a  fine  tone. 

This  man,  who  was  in  needy  circumstances,  demon- 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  71 

strated  to  his  lordship  that  ten  pounds  would  make  his 
fortune ;  because  with  ten  pounds  he  could  set  up  a  shop, 
instead  of  working  out  of  the  world's  sight  in  a  room. 

Lord  Ipsden  gave  him  ten  pounds ! 

A  week  after  he  met  Harvey,  more  ragged  and  dirty 
than  before. 

Harvey  had  been  robbed  by  a  friend  whom  he  had 
assisted.  Poor  Hauvey !  Lord  Ipsden  gave  him  ten 
pounds  more  ! 

Next  week,  Saunders,  entering  Harvey's  house,  fouiid 
him  in  bed  at  noon,  because  he  had  no  clothes  to  wear. 

Saunders  suggested  that  it  would  be  better  to  give  his 
Avife  the  next  money,  with  strict  orders  to  apply  it 
usefully. 

This  was  done ! 

The  next  day,  Harvey  finding  his  clothes  upon  a  chair, 
his  tools  redeemed  from  pawn,  and  a  beefsteak  ready  for 
his  dinner,  accused  his  wife  of  having  money,  and  meanly 
refusing  him  the  benefit  of  it.  She  acknowledged  she 
had  a  little,  and  appealed  to  the  improved  state  of  things 
as  a  proof  that  she  knew  better  than  he  the  use  of 
money.  He  demanded  the  said  money.  She  refused  — 
he  leathered  her  —  she  put  him  in  prison. 

This  was  the  best  place  for  him.  The  man  was  a 
drunkard,  and  all  the  riches  of  Egypt  would  never  have 
made  him  better  off. 

And  here,  gentlemen  of  the  lower  classes,  a  v/ord  with 
you.  How  can  you,  with  your  small  incomes,  hope  to  be 
well  off,  if  you  are  more  extravagant  than  those  who 
have  large  ones  ? 

"  Us  extravagant  ?  "  you  reply. 

Yes  !  your  income  is  ten  shillings  a  week ;  out  of  that 
you  spend  three  shillings  in  drink ;  ay !  you  the  sober 
ones.  You  can't  afford  it,  my  boys.  Find  me  a  man 
whose  income  is  a  thousand  a  year ;  well,  if  he  imitates 


<3  CHllISTIE   JOUNSTONK. 

you,  and  spends  three  luuulred  upon  sensuality,  I  bet 
you  the  odd  seven  hundred,  lie  does  not  make  both  ends 
meet;  the  proportion  is  too  great.  And  tivo-thinh  of  the 
distress  of  the  lower  orders  is  oiviiKj  to  this  —  thnt  they 
are  more  madly  jjrinliyal  thou  the  rirh  ;  in  the  tvorst, 
loiri'st,  and  most  dnngeroiis  item  of  all  human  prodigality  ! 

Lord  Ipsden  went  to  see  Mrs.  Harvey;  it  cost  him 
much  to  go;  she  lived  in  the  old  town,  and  he  hated  dis- 
agreeable smells ;  he  also  knew  from  Saunders  that  she 
had  two  black  eyes,  and  he  hated  women  with  black 
eyes  of  that  sort.  But  this  good  creature  did  go ;  did 
relieve  Mrs.  Harvey  ;  and,  bareheaded,  suffered  himself 
to  be  bedewed  ten  minutes  by  her  tearful  twaddle. 

For  once,  virtue  was  rewarded  :  returning  over  the 
North  Bridge,  he  met  somebody  whom,  but  for  his 
charity,  he  would  not  have  met. 

He  came  in  one  bright  moment  plump  upon  —  Lady 
Barbara  Sinclair.  She  flushed,  he  trembled,  and  in  two 
minutes  he  had  forgotten  every  human  event  that  had 
passed  since  last  he  was  by  her  side. 

She  seemed  pleased  to  see  him,  too  ;  she  ignored  en- 
tirely his  obnoxious  proposal ;  he  wisely  took  her  cue, 
and  so,  on  this  secret  understanding,  they  were  friends. 
He  made  his  arrangements,  and  dined  with  her  family. 
It  was  a  family  party.  In  the  evening  Lady  Barbara 
allowed  it  to  transpire  that  she  had  made  inquiries  about 
him. 

(He  was  highly  flattered.)  And  she  had  discovered  he 
was  lying  hid  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood. 

"  Studying  the  guitar  ?  "  inquired  she. 

"No,"  said  he,  "studying  a  new  class  of  the  com- 
munity. Do  you  know  any  of  what  they  call  the  'lower 
classes '  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Monstrous  agreeable  people,  are  they  not  ?  " 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


73 


"No,  very  stupid!  I  only  know  two  old  women  — 
except  the  servants,  who  have  no  characters.  They 
imitate  us,  I  suspect,  which  does  not  say  much  for  their 

taste." 

"But  some   of   my   friends   are   young  women,  that 

makes  all  the  difference." 

"  It  does  !  and  you  ought  to  be  ashamed.  If  you  want 
a  low  order  of  mind,  why  desert  our  own  circle  ?  " 

"  My  friends  are  only  low  in  station ;  they  have  rather 
lofty  minds,  some  of  them." 

"Well,  amuse  yourself  with  these  lofty  mmds. 
Amusement  is  the  end  of  being,  you  know,  and  the  aim 
of  all  the  men  of  this  day." 

"We  imitate  the  ladies,"  said  he  slyly. 
"You  do,"  answered  she,  very  dryly;  and  so  the 
dialogue  went  on,  and  Lord  Ipsden  found  the  pleasure 
of  being  with  his  cousin  compensate  him  fully  for  the 
difference  of  their  opinions ;  in  fact,  he  found  it  simply 
amusing  that  so  keen  a  wit  as  his  cousin's  could  be 
entrapped  into  the  humor  of  decrying  the  time  one 
happens  to  live  in,  and  admiring  any  epoch  one  knows 
next  to  nothing  about,  and  entrapped  by  the  notion  of 
its  originality,  above  all  things ;  the  idea  being  the  stale 
commonplace  of  asses  in  every  age,  and  the  manner 
of  conveying  the  idea  being  a  mere  imitation  of  the 
German  writers,  not  the  good  ones.  Men  entendu,  but  the 
quill-drivers,  the  snobs  of  the  Teutonic  pen. 

But  he  was  to  learn  that  follies  are  not  always  laugh- 
able, that  eadem  sentire  is  a  bond,  and  that  when  a  clever 
and  pretty  woman  chooses  to  be  a  fool,  her  lover,  if  he 
is  wise,  will  be  a  greater  —  if  he  can. 

The  next  time  they  met,  Lord  Ipsden  found  Lady 
Barbara  occupied  with  a  gentleman,  whose  first  sentence 
proclaimed  him  a  pupil  of  Mr.  Thomas  Carlyle,  and  he 
had  the  mortification  to  find  that  she  had  neither  an  ear 
nor  an  eye  for  him. 


74  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

Human  opinion  has  so  many  sliades,  that  it  is  rare  to 
iind  two  people  agree. 

Bnt  two  people  may  agree  wonderfully,  if  they  will 
but  let  a  third  think  for  them  both. 

Thus  it  was  that  these  two  ran  so  smoothly  in  couples. 

Antiquity,  they  agreed,  was  the  time  when  the  world 
was  old,  its  hair  gray,  its  head  wise.  Every  one  that 
said  '•  Lord,  Lord  !  "  two  hundred  years  ago,  was  a  Chris- 
tian. There  were  no  earnest  men  now ;  Williams,  the 
missionary,  who  lived  and  died  for  the  gospel,  was  not 
earnest  in  religion ;  but  Cromwell,  who  packed  a  jury, 
and  so  murdered  his  prisoner,  —  Cromwell,  in  whose 
mouth  was  heaven,  and  in  his  heart  temporal  sovereignty, 
was  the  pattern  of  earnest  religion,  or,  at  all  events, 
second  in  sincerity  to  Mahomet  alone,  in  the  absence  of 
details  respecting  Satan,  of  whom  we  know  only  that 
his  mouth  is  a  Scripture  concordance,  and  his  hands  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Carljde's  saints. 

Then  they  went  back  a  century  or  two,  and  were  elo- 
quent about  the  great  antique  heart,  and  the  beauty  of 
an  age  'ttrhose  samples  were  Abbot  Sampson  and  Joan 
of  Arc. 

Lord  Ipsden  hated  argument ;  but  jealousy  is  a  brass 
spur :  it  made  even  this  man  fluent  for  once. 

He  suggested  "That  five  hundred  years  added  to  a 
world's  life  made  it  just  five  hundred  years  older,  not 
younger ;  and  if  older,  grayer ;  and  if  grayer,  wiser. 

"  Of  Abbot  Sampson,"  said  he,  ''  whom  I  confess  both 
a  great  and  a  good  man,  his  author,  who  with  all  his 
talent  belongs  to  the  class  muddle-head,  tells  us,  that 
Avhen  he  had  been  two  years  in  authority  his  red  hair 
had  turned  gray,  fighting  against  the  spirit  of  his  age  ; 
how  the  deuce,  then,  could  he  be  a  sample  of  the  spirit 
of  his  age  ? 

<'Joan  of  Ave  was  burnt  by  acclamation  of  her  age, 


CHRISTIE   JOHKSTONE.  75 

and  is  admired  by  our  age.  Which  fact  identifies  an  age 
most  with  a  heroine,  to  give  her  your  heart,  or  to  give 
her  a  Wazing  fagot  and  death  ? 

'•'  Abbot  Sampson  and  Joan  of  Arc,"  concluded  he, 
"  prove  no  more  in  favor  of  their  age,  and  no  less  against 
it,  than  Lot  does  for  or  against  Sodom.  Lot  was  in 
Sodom,  but  not  of  it ;  and  so  were  Sampson  and  Joan  in, 
but  not  of,  the  villanous  times  they  lived  in. 

"  The  very  best  text-book  of  true  religion  is  the  New 
Testament,  and  I  gather  from  it,  that  the  man  who  for- 
gives his  enemies  whilst  their  axe  descends  on  his  head, 
however  poor  a  creature  he  may  be  in  other  respects,  is 
a  better  Christian  than  the  man  who  has  the  God  of 
Mercy  forever  on  his  lips,  and  whose  hands  are  swift  to 
shed  blood. 

"  The  earnest  men  of  former  ages  are  not  extinct  in 
this,"  added  he.  *'  Whenever  a  scaffold  is  erected  out- 
side a  prison-door,  if  you  are  earnest  in  pursuit  of  truth, 
and  can  put  up  with  disgusting  objects,  you  shall  see  a 
relic  of  ancient  manners  hung. 

"  There  still  exist,  in  parts  of  America,  rivers  on  whose 
banks  are  earnest  men,  who  shall  take  your  scalp,  the  wife's 
of  your  bosom,  and  the  innocent  child's  of  her  bosom. 

"  In  England  we  are  as  earnest  as  ever  in  pursuit  of 
heaven,  and  of  innocent  worldly  advantages.  If,  when 
the  consideration  of  life  and  death  interposes,  we  appear 
less  earnest  in  pursuit  of  comparative  trifles,  such  as 
kingdoms  or  dogmas,  it  is  because,  cooler  in  action  Ave 
are  more  earnest  in  thought  —  because  reason,  experi- 
ence, and  conscience  are  things  that  check  the  unscrupu- 
lousness  or  beastly  earnestness  of  man. 

'•'  jMoreover,  he  who  has  the  sense  to  see  that  questions 
have  three  sides,  is  no  longer  so  intellectually  as  well  as 
morally  degraded  as  to  be  able  to  cut  every  throat  that 
utters  an  opinion  contrary  to  his  own. 


76  CHRISTIE    .JOHNSTONE. 

"If  the  phrase  'earnest  man'  means  man  imitating 
the  beasts  that  are  deaf  to  reason,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
civilization  and  Christianity  will  really  extinguish  the 
whole  race  for  the  beneht  of  the  earth." 

Lord  Ipsden  succeeded  in  annoying  the  fair  theorist, 
but  not  in  convincing  her. 

The  mediaeval  enthusiasts  looked  on  him  as  some 
rough  animal  that  had  burst  into  sacred  grounds  uncon- 
sciously, and  gradually  edged  away  from  him. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  77 


CHAPTER   X. 

Lord  Ipsden  had  soon  the  mortification  of  discovering 

that  this  Mr. was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  house  ;  and 

although  his  cousin  gave  him  her  ear  in  this  man's 
absence,  on  the  arrival  of  her  fellow-enthusiast  he  had 
ever  the  mortification  of  finding  himself  de  troj). 

Once  or  twice  he  demolished  this  personage  in  argu- 
ment, and  was  rewarded  by  finding  himself  more  de 
trop. 

But  one  day,  Lady  Barbara,  being  in  a  cousinly  humor, 
expressed  a  wish  to  sail  in  his  lordship's  yacht ;  and  this 
hint  soon  led  to  a  party  being  organized,  and  a  sort  of 
picnic  on  the  island  of  Inch  Coombe,  his  lordship's  cutter 
being  the  mode  of  conveyance  to  and  from  that  spot. 

Now  it  happened  that  on  that  very  day  Jean  Carnie's 
marriage  was  celebrated  on  that  very  island  by  her  rela- 
tions and  friends. 

So  that  we  shall  introduce  our  readers  to  The  Rival 
Picnics. 

We  begin  with  Les  gens  comme  ilfaut. 

Picnic  No,  1. 

The  servants  were  employed  in  putting  away  dishes 
into  hampers. 

There  was  a  calm  silence. 

"Hem,"  observed  Sir  Henry  Talbot. 

"  Eh  ?  "  replied  the  Honorable  Tom  Hitherington. 

"Mamma,"  said  Miss  Vere,  "have  you  brought  any 
work  ?  " 


78  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

"No,  my  dear." 

"At  a  picnic,"  said  Mr.  Hitherington,  "isn't  it  the 
thing  for  somebody  —  aw  —  to  do  something  ?  " 

"  Ipsden,"  said  Lady  I>arbai-a,  "there  is  an  understand- 
ing between  you  and  Mr.  Hitherington.  I  condemn  you 
to  turn  him  into  English." 

"Yes,  Lady  Barbara;  I'll  tell  you,  he  means  —  do  you 
mean  anj-thing,  Tom  ?  " 

Hitherington.     Can't  anybody  guess  what  I  mean  ? 

Lady  Barbara.  Guess  first,  yourself;  you  can't  be 
suspected  of  being  in  the  secret. 

Hitherington.  AYhat  I  mean  is,  that  people  sing  a 
song,  or  run  races,  or  preach  a  sermon,  or  do  something 
funny  at  a  picnic,  —  aw  —  somebody  gets  up  and  does 
something. 

Lddij  Biirbani.  Tlien  perhaps  Miss  Vere,  whose  sing- 
ing is  famous,  will  have  the  complaisance  to  sing  to 
us. 

Miss  Vere.  T  should  be  happy,  Lady  Barbara,  but  I 
have  not  brought  my  music. 

Lady  Barbara.  Oh,  we  are  not  critical ;  the  simplest 
air,  or  even  a  fragment  of  melody  ;  the  sea  and  the  sky 
will  be  a  better  accompaniment  than  Broadwood  ever 
made. 

Miss  Vere.     I  can't  sing  a  note  without  book. 

Sir  H.  Talbot.  Your  music  is  in  your  soul,  not  at 
your  fingers'  ends. 

Lord  Ipsden  (to  Lady  Barbara).  It  is  in  her  book,  and 
not  in  her  soul. 

Lady  Barbara  (to  Lord  Ipsden).  Then  it  has  chosen 
the  better  situation  of  the  two. 

Ipsden.  Miss  Vere  is  to  the  fine  art  of  music,  what  the 
engrossers  are  to  the  black  art  of  law ;  it  all  filters 
through  them  without  leaving  any  sediment ;  and  so  the 
music  of  the  day  passes  through  Miss  Vere's  mind,  but 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


79 


none  remains  to  stain  its  virgin  snow.  (He  bows,  she 
smiles.) 

Lady  Barbara  (to  herself).  Insolent ;  and  the  little 
dunce  thinks  he  is  complimenting  her. 

Ipsden.  Perhaps  Talbot  will  come  to  our  rescue ;  he 
is  a  fiddler. 

Talbot.     An  amateur  of  the  violin. 

Ipsden.     It  is  all  the  same  thing. 

Lady  Barbara.     I  wish  it  may  prove  so. 


Tal 


(Grave)  Zu-^ 


-i 


Bis. 


Bis. 


~J2L 


fff  Prestissimo 

T — 3-D— I ~ 


sr 


-9-  -#• — (-.     -#■ 

—  -#■ 


-*—. — #- 


^  !    '    '    i  ^^  "^S^  lit 


_^_^_^ 


*    i^    -S-     ■•-  n«      ^ 

■ — t- 


80 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


^^^ 


Miss  Vere.  Beautiful. 
Mrs.  Vere.  Charming. 
Hitherington.     Superb. 

Miss  Ve,'e.     Oh,  yes,  how  nice  ! 


CHBISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  81 

Ipsden  (rhetorically).  A,  B,  C,  D,  E,  F,  G,  H,  I,  J,  K, 
L,  M,  I^,  0,  P,  Q,  R,  S,  T,  U,  V,  W,  X,  Y,  Z,  Y,  X,  W, 

V,  U,  T,  S,  0,  N,  M,  L,  K,  J,  I,  H,  G,  F,  A,  M,  little  p, 
little  t. 

Lady  Barbara.  Beautiful !  Superb !  Ipsden  lias 
been  taking  lessons  on  the  thinking  instrument. 

Hitherington.  He  has  been  perdu  amongst  vulgar 
people. 

Talbot.  And  expects  a  pupil  of  Herz  to  play  him 
tunes ! 

Lady  Barbara.     What  are  tunes,  Sir  Henry  ? 

Talbot.     Something  I  don't  play,  Ladj'  Barbara. 

Lady  Barbara.  I  understand  you ;  something  we 
ought  to  like. 

Ipsden.  I  have  a  Stradivarius  violin  at  home ;  it  is 
yours,  Talbot,  if  you  can  define  a  tune. 

Talbot.     A  tune  is  —  everybody  knows  what. 

Lady  Barbara.  A  tune  is  a  tune,  that  is  what  you 
meant  to  say. 

Talbot.     Of  course  it  is. 

Lady  Barbara.  Be  reasonable,  Ipsden.  No  man  can 
do  two  things  at  once.  How  can  the  pupil  of  Herz 
condemn  a  thing  and  know  what  it  means  contempo- 
raneously ? 

Ipsdeyi.  Is  the  drinking-song  in  "Der  Freischutz,"  a 
tune? 

Lady  Barbara.     It  is. 

Ipsden.     And  the  melodies  of  Handel,  are  they  tunes  ? 

Lady  Barbara  (pathetically).  They  are !  They 
are  ! 

Ipsden.  And  the  "Russian  Anthem,''  and  the  "Mar- 
seillaise," and  "  Ah,  Perdona  "  ? 

Talbot.     And  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  ? 

Lady  Barbara.     So  that  Sir  Henry,  who  prided  himself 
on  his  ignorance,  has  a  wide  field  for  its  dominion. 
6 


82  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

Talbot.  All  good  violin  players  do  like  me ;  they 
prelude,  not  play  tunes. 

Jpsden.  Then  Heaven  be  thanked  for  our  blind 
fiddlers.  You  like  syllables  of  sound  in  unmeaning 
rotation,  and  you  despise  its  words,  its  puri)()ses,  its 
narrative  feats ;  carry  out  your  principle,  it  will  show 
you  where  you  are.  Buy  a  dirty  palette  for  a  picture, 
and  dream  the  alphabet  is  a  poem. 

Ladi/  Barbara  (to  herself).    Is  this  my  cousin  Richard  ? 

Hitherington.  Slind,  Ipsden,  you  are  a  man  of  prop- 
erty, and  there  are  such  things  as  commissions  de  lunatico. 

Lad  11  Barbara.  His  defence  will  be  that  his  friends 
pronounce  him  insane. 

Ipsden.  No ;  I  shall  subpoena  Talbot's  fiddle  ;  cross- 
examination  will  get  nothing  out  of  that  but  do,  re, 
mi,  fa. 

Lady  Barbara.     Yes,  it  will ;  fa,  mi,  re,  do. 

Talbot.     Violin,  if  you  please. 

Lady  Barbara.     Ask  Fiddle's  pardon  directly. 
(Sound  of  fiddles  is  heard  in  the  distance.) 

Talbot.  How  lucky  for  you,  there  are  fiddles  and  tunes, 
and  the  natives  you  are  said  to  favor ;  why  not  join  them  ? 

Ipsden  (shaking  his  head  solemnly).  T  dread  to  en- 
counter another  prelude. 

Hitherington.  Come,  I  know  you  would  like  ;  it  is  a 
wedding-party  —  two  sea  monsters  have  been  united. 
The  sailors  and  fishermen  are  all  blue  cloth  and  wash- 
leather  gloves. 

Miss  Vere.     He  !  he  ! 

Talbot.  The  fishwives  unite  the  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow— 

Lady  Barbara.  (And  we  all  know  how  hideous  they 
are)  —  to  vulgar  blooming  cheeks,  staring  white  teeth, 
and  sky-blue  eyes. 

3frs.  Vere,  How  satirical  you  are,  especially  you,  Lady 
Barbara. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  83 

Here  Lord  Ipsden,  after  a  word  to  Lady  Barbara,  the 
answer  to  which  did  not  appear  to  be  favorable,  rose, 
gave  a  little  yawn,  looked  steadily  at  his  companions 
without  seeing  them,  and  departed  without  seeming 
aware  that  he  was  leaving  anybody  behind  him. 

Hitherington.  Let  us  go  somewhere  where  we  can 
quiz  the  natives  without  being  too  near  them. 

Lady  Barbara.  I  am  tired  of  this  unbroken  solitude. 
"  I  must  go  and  think  to  the  sea,"  added  she,  in  a  mock 
soliloquy  ;  and  out  she  glided  with  the  same  unconscious 
air  as  his  lordship  had  worn. 

The  others  moved  off  slowly  together. 

"Mamma,"  said  Miss  Vere,  "I  can't  understand  half 
Barbara  Sinclair  says." 

"It  is  not  necessary,  my  love,"  replied  mamma;  "she 
is  rather  eccentric,  and  I  fear  she  is  spoiling  Lord 
Ipsden." 

"Poor  Lord  Ipsden,"  murmured  the  lovely  Vere,  "he 
used  to  be  so  nice,  and  do  like  everybody  else.  Mamma, 
I  shall  bring  some  work  the  next  time." 

"Do,  my  love." 

Picnic  No.  2. 

In  a  house  two  hundred  yards  from  this  scene,  a  merry 
dance,  succeeding  a  merry  song,  had  ended,  and  they 
were  in  the  midst  of  an  interesting  story ;  Christie 
Johnstone  was  the  narrator.  She  had  found  the  tale 
in  one  of  the  viscount's  books,  —  it  had  made  a  great 
impression  on  her. 

The  rest  were  listening  intently  :  in  a  room  which  had 
lately  been  all  noise,  not  a  sound  was  now  to  be  heard 
but  the  narrator's  voice. 

"Aweel,  lasses,  here  are  the  three  wee  kists  set,  the 
lads  are  to  chuse, — the  ane  that  chuses  reicht  is  to  get 
Porsha,  an'  the  lave  to  get  the  bag,  and  dee  baitchelars. 


84  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

Flucker  Johnstone,  you  that's  sae  clever,  —  are  ye  for 
ij;o\vcl  or  siller  or  leed  ?  " 

First  Fishwife.     Gowd  for  me  ! 

Second  ditto.     The  white  siller's  my  taste. 

Flucker.  Na  !  there's  aye  some  deevelish  trick  in  thir 
lassie's  stories.  I  shall  lie-to  till  the  ither  lads  hae 
chased  ;  the  mair  part  will  put  themsels  oot,  ane  will 
hit  it  off  reicht  maybe,  then  I  shall  gie  him  a  hidin'  an' 
carry  olf  the  lass.     You-hoo  ! 

Jean  Cai-nie.     That's  you,  Flucker. 

Christie  Johnstone.  And  div  ye  really  think  we  are 
gawn  to  let  you  see  a'  the  world  chuse  ?  Na,  lad,  ye 
are  putten  oot  o'  the  room,  like  witnesses. 

Flucker.  Then  I'd  toss  a  penny  ;  for  gien  ye  trust  to 
luck,  she  whiles  favors  ye,  but  gien  ye  commence  to  rea- 
son and  argefy  —  ye're  done  I 

Christie.  The  suitors  had  na  your  wit,  my  manny,  or 
maybe  they  had  na  a  penny  to  toss,  sae  ane  chused  the 
gowd  and  ane  the  siller ;  but  they  got  an  awfu'  affront. 
The  gowd  kist  had  just  a  skull  intill't,  and  the  siller  a 
deed  cuddy's  head  ! 

Chorus  of  Females.     He  !  he  !  he  ! 

Ditto  of  Males.     Haw!  haw!  haw!  haw!     Ho! 

Christie.  An'  I'orslia  puttit  the  pair  of  gowks  to  the 
door.  Then  came  Bassanio,  the  lad  fra  Veeneece,  that 
Porsha  loed  in  secret.  Veeneece,  lasses,  is  a  wonderful 
city ;  the  streets  o't  are  water  and  the  carriages  are  boats 
—  that's  in  Chambers's. 

Flucker.     Wha  are  ye  making  a  fool  o'  ? 

Christie.     What's  wrang  ? 

Flucker.     Yon's  just  as  big  a  lee  as  ever  I  heerd. 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  ere  he  had 
reason  to  regret  them  ;  a  severe  box  on  the  ear  was 
administered  by  his  indignant  sister.  Nobody  pitied 
him. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  85 

Chi'istie.  I'll  laern  ye  t'  affront  me  before  a'  the 
company. 

Jean  Carnie.  Suppose  it's  a  lee,  there's  nae  silver  to 
pay  for  it,  Flucker. 

Christie.     Jean,  I  never  telt  a  lee  in  a'  my  days. 

Jean.  There's  ane  to  begin  wi',  then.  Go  ahead, 
Custy. 

Christie.  She  bade  the  music  play  for  him,  for  music 
brightens  thoucht ;  ony  way,  he  chose  the  leed  kist. 
Opens't  and  wasn't  there  Porsha's  pictur,  and  a  posy 
that  said, 

"  *  If  you  be  well  pleased  with  this, 
And  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss  ; 
Turn  you  where  your  leddy  iss. 
And  greet  her  wi'  a  loving '' "  —     (Pause.) 

"Kess,"  roared  the  company. 

Chorus  (led  by  Flucker).     Hurraih  : 

Christie  (pathetically).     Flucker,  behave  ! 

Sandy  Liston  (drunk).  Hur-raih  !  He  then  solemnly 
reflected:  "Na!  but  its  na hurraih;  decency  requires  amen 
first  an'  hurraih  afterwards  ;  here's  kissin  plenty,  biit  I 
hear  nae  word  o'  the  minister.  Ye'll  obsairve,  young 
woman,  that  kissin's  the  prologue  to  sin,  and  I'm  a  decent 
mon,  an'  a  gray-headed  mon,  an'  your  liclit  stories  are  no 
for  me  ;  sae,  if  the  minister's  no  expeckit,  I  shall  retire 
—  an'  tak  my  quiet  jill  my  lane." 

Jean  Carnie.  And  div  ye  really  think  a  decent  cum- 
mer like  Custy  wad  let  the  lad  and  lass  misbehave  thir- 
sels !  Na,  lad  ;  the  minister's  at  the  door,  but  (sinking 
her  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper)  I  daurna  let  him  in, 
for  fear  he'd  see  ye  hae  putten  the  enemy  in  your  mooth 
sae  aerly.     (That's  Custy's  word.) 

"Jemmy  Drysel,"  replied  Sandy,  addressing  vacancy, 
for  Jemmy  was  mysteriously  at  work   in  the   kitchen, 


86  CHRIRTIK   JOHNSTONE. 

"ye  hae  gotten  a  tliouc;htfu'  wife."  Then,  with  a  strong 
revulsion  of  feeling:  "Diiina  let  the  blakguCinP  in  here," 
cried  he,  "to  spoil  the  young  folks'  sporrt." 

Chrutie.  Aweel,  lassies,  eomes  a  letter  to  Bassanio ; 
he  reads  it,  and  turns  as  pale  as  deeth. 

A  Fishwife.     Gude  help  us. 

Christie.  Poorsha  b<'hoved  to  ken  his  grief,  wha  had 
a  better  reieht  ?  "  Here's  a  letter,  leddy,"  says  he,  "  the 
l>aper's  the  boedy  of  my  freend,  like,  and  every  word  in 
it  a  gaping  wound." 

A  Fisherman.     Maircy  on  us. 

Christie.  Lad  it  was  fra  puir  Antonio,  ye  mind  o' 
him,  lasses.  Hech  !  the  ill  luck  o'  yon  man,  no  a  ship 
come  hame  ;  ane  foundered  at  sea,  coming  fra  Tri-po-lis  ; 
the  pirates  scuttled  another,  an'  ane  ran  ashore  on  the 
Goodwyns,  near  Bright-helm-stane,  that's  in  England 
itsel',  I  daur  say  :  sae  he  could  na  pay  the  three  thoo- 
sand  ducats,  an'  Shylock  had  grippit  him,  an'  sought  the 
pund  o'  flesh  aif  the  breest  o'  him,  puir  body. 

Sandy  Liston.  He  would  na  be  the  waur  o'  a  wee  bit 
hiding,  yon  thundering  urang  utang;  let  the  man  alane, 
ye  cursed  old  cannibal. 

Christie.  Poorsha  keepit  her  man  but  ae  hoor  till 
they  were  united,  an'  then  sent  him  wi'  a  puckle  o'  her 
ain  siller  to  Veeneece,  and  Antonio,  —  think  o'  that, 
lassies,  —  pairted  on  their  wedding  day. 

Lizzy  Johnstone  (a  fishwife,  aged  twelve).  Hech, 
hech !  it's  lamentable. 

Jean  Carnie.  I'm  saying,  mairriage  is  quick  wark,  in 
some  pairts,  —  here  there's  an  awfu'  trouble  to  get  a 
man. 

A  Young  Fishwife.     Ay,  is  there. 

Omnes.     Haw !  haw  !  haw  !     (The  fishwife  hides.) 

1  At  present  this  is  a  spondee  in  England  —  a  trochee  in  Scotland.  The 
pronunciation  of  this  important  word  ought  to  be  fixed,  repreaenting,  a»  it 
does,  so  large  a  portion  of  the  community  in  both  countries. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  87 

Christie.  Fill  your  taupsels,  lads  and  lasses,  and  awa 
to  Veeneece. 

Sandy  Liston  (sturdily).     I'll  no  gang  to  sea  this  day. 

Christie.  Noo,  we  are  in  the  hall  o'  judgment.  Here 
are  set  the  judges,  awf u'  to  behold ;  there,  on  his  throne, 
presides  the  Juke. 

Flucker.     She's  awa  to  her  Ennglish. 

Lizzy  Johnstone.  Did  we  come  to  Veeneece  to  speak 
Scoetch,  ye  useless  fule  ? 

Christie.  Here,  pale  and  hopeless,  but  resigned,  stands 
the  broken  mairchant,  Antonio ;  there,  wi'  scales  and 
knives,  and  revenge  in  his  uiurderin'  eye,  stands  the 
crewel  Jew  Shylock. 

"Aweel,"  muttered  Sandy  considerately,  "I'll  no  raak 
a  disturbance  on  a  wedding  day." 

Christie.  They  wait  for  Bell  —  I  dinna  mind  his  mind 
—  a  laerned  lawyer,  ony  way ;  he's  sick,  but  sends  ane 
mair  laerned  still,  and  when  this  ane  comes,  he  looks  not 
older  nor  wiser  than  mysel'. 

Flucker.     No  possible  ! 

Christie.  Ye  need  na  be  sae  sarcy,  Flucker,  for  when 
he  comes  to  his  wark  he  soon  lets  'em  ken  —  runs  his 
een  like  lightening  ower  the  boend.  "  This  bond's  for- 
feit. Is  Antonio  not  able  to  dischairge  the  money  ?  "  — 
"Ay!"  cries  Bassanio,  "here's  the  sum  thrice  told." 
Says  the  young  judge,  in  a  bit  whisper  to  Shylock, 
"Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  offered  thee.  Be 
mairciful,"  says  he,  out  loud.  "'  Wha'll  mak  me  ?  "  says 
the  Jew  body.  "  Mak  je  ! "  says  he  ;  "  maircy  is  no  a 
thing  ye  strain  through  a  sieve,  mon ;  it  droppeth  like 
the  gentle  dew  fra  heaven  upon  the  place  beneath ;  it 
blesses  him  that  gives  and  him  that  taks ;  it  becomes 
the  king  better  than  his  throne,  and  airthly  power  is 
inaist  like  God's  power  when  maircy  seasons  justice," 

Robert  Haw  (fisherman).     Dinna  speak  like  that  to 


88  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

me  onybody,  or  I  shall  gie  ye  my  boat,  and  fling  my  nets 
intil  it,  as  ye  sail  awa  wi'  her. 

Jean  Carnie.  Sae  he  let  the  puir  deevil  go.  Oh !  ye 
ken  wha  could  stand  up  against  siccan  a  shower  o' 
Ennglish  as  thaat. 

Christie.  He  just  said,  "  My  deeds  upon  my  heed. 
1  Claim  the  law,"  says  he;  "there  is  no  power  in  the 
tongue  (»'  man  to  alter  me.     I  stay  here  on  my  boend." 

Sandij  Liston.  I  hae  sat  quiet !  —  quiet  I  hae  sat 
against  my  will,  no  to  disturb  Jamie  Drysel's  weddin' ; 
but  ye  carry  the  game  ower  far.  Shy  lock,  my  lad.  I'll 
just  give  yon  bluidy  minded  Qrang  utang  a  hidin',  and 
bring  Tony  off,  the  gude,  puir-spirited  creature ;  and  him 
an'  me,  an'  Bassanee,  an'  Porshee,  we'll  all  hae  a  jill 
thegither. 

He  rose,  and  was  instantly  seized  by  two  of  the  com- 
pany, from  whom  he  burst  furiously,  after  a  struggle, 
and  the  next  moment  was  heard  to  fall  clean  from  the 
top  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs.  Flucker  and  Jean  ran 
out ;  the  rest  appealed  against  the  interruption. 

Christie.  Hech  !  he's  killed ;  Sandy  Liston's  brake  his 
neck. 

"  What  aboot  it,  lassy  ?  "  said  a  young  fisherman,  '•'  'tis 
Antonio  I'm  feared  for ;  save  him,  lassy,  if  poessible  ;  but 
I  doot  ye'll  no  get  him  clear  o'  yon  deevelich  heathen." 

'•'  Auld  Sandy's  cheap  sairved,"  added  he,  with  all  the 
indifference  a  human  tone  could  convey. 

'•'0  Cursty,"  said  Lizzy  Johnstone,  with  a  peevish 
accent,  "dinna  break  the  bonny  yarn  for  naething." 

Flucker  (returning).     He's  a'  reicht. 

Christie.     Is  he  no  dead  V 

Flucker.  Him  deed  ?  he's  sober  —  that's  a'  the  change 
I  see. 

Christie.     Can  he  speak  ?     I'm  asking  ye. 

Flucker.     Yes,  he  can  speak. 


CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE.  89 

Christie.     What  does  he  say,  puir  body  ? 

Flucker.  He  sat  up,  an'  sought  a  jill  fra'  the  wife  — 
puir  body  ! 

Christie.  Hech,  hech  !  he  was  my  pupil  in  the  airt  o' 
sobriety  !  —  Aweel,  the  young  judge  rises  to  deliver  the 
sentence  of  the  coort.  —  Silence  !  (thundered  Christie. 
A  lad  and  a  lass  that  were  slightly  flirting  were  dis- 
countenanced.) 

Christie.  A  pund  o'  that  same  mairchant's  flesh  is 
thine  I  the  coort  awards  it,  and  the  law  does  give  it. 

A  Young  Fishwife.  There,  I  thoucht  sae ;  he's  gaun 
to  cut  him,  he's  gaun  to  cut  him ;  I'll  no  can  bide. 
(Exibat.) 

Christie.  There's  a  fulish  goloshen.  —  "  Have  by  a 
doctor  to  stop  the  blood."  —  '•  I  see  nae  doctor  in  the 
boend,"  says  the  Jew  body. 

Flucker.  Bait  your  hook  wi'  a  boend,  and  ye  shall 
catch  yon  carle's  saul.  Satin,  my  lad. 

Christie  (with  dismal  pathos).  0  Flucker,  dinna  speak 
evil  o'  deegneties,  —  that's  maybe  fishing  for  yoursel'  the 
noo !  —  "  An'  ye  shall  cut  the  flesh  frae  off  his  breest." 
—  "A  sentence,"  says  vShylock,  '' come,  prepare." 

Christie  made  a  dash  en  Shylock,  and  the  company 
trembled. 

Christie.  "Bide  a  wee,"  says  the  judge.  "This  boend 
gies  ye  na  a  drap  o'  bluid ;  the  words  expressly  are,  a 
pund  o'  flesh !  " 

(^A  Dramatic  Pause.) 

Jean  Carnie  (drawing  her  breath).  That's  into  your 
mutton,  Shylock. 

Christie  (with  dismal  pathos).  0  Jean  !  yon's  an  awfu' 
voolgar  exprassion  to  come  fra'  a  woman's  mooth. 

"  Could  ye  no  hae  said,  '  intil  his  bacon '  ?  "  said  Lizzy 
Johnstone,  confirming  the  remonstrance. 


90  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

Christie.  "Then  tak  your  boend,  an'  your  ]>und  o'  flesh \ 
but  in  cutting  o't,  if  thou  dost  shed  one  drop  of  Christian 
bluid  —  thou  diest ! " 

Jenn  Carnie.     Hech  ! 

Christie.  "  Thy  goods  are  by  the  laws  of  Veeneece 
con-fis-oat(^  confiscate  ! " 

Then  like  an  artful  narrator,  she  began  to  wind  up  the 
story  more  rapidly. 

"  Sae  Shylock  got  to  be  no  sac  saucy.  *  Pay  the  boend 
thrice, "says  he,  'and  let  the  puir  deevil  go.'  —  'Here 
it's,'  says  Rassanio.  Na  I  the  young  judge  wad  na  let 
him.  *He  has  refused  it  in  open  coort;  no  a  bawbee 
for  Shylock  but  just  the  forfeiture ;  an'  he  daur  na  tak 
it.'  —  *  I'm  awa','  says  he.  *  The  deivil  tak  ye  a'.' 
Na  I  he  was  na  to  win  clear  sae ;  ance  they'd  gotten  the 
Jew  on  the  hep.  they  worried  him.  like  good  Christians, 
that's  a  fact.  The  judge  fand  a  law  that  fitted  him,  for 
conspiring  against  the  life  of  a  citizen  ;  an'  he  behooved 
to  give  up  hoose  an'  lands,  an'  be  a  Cliristian ;  yon  was 
a  soor  drap  —  he  tarned  no  weel,  puir  auld  villain,  an' 
scairtit ;  an'  the  lawyers  sent  ane  o'  their  weary  parch- 
ments till  his  hoose,  and  thf  puir  auld  heathen  signed 
awa  his  siller,  an'  Abraham,  an'  Isaac,  an'  Jacob,  on  the 
heed  o't.  I  pity  him,  an  auld,  auld  man  ;  and  his  doch- 
ter  had  rin  off  wi'  a  Christian  lad — the}'-  ca'  her  Jessica, 
and  didn't  she  steal  his  very  diamond  ring  that  his  ain 
lass  gied  him  when  he  was  young,  au'  maybe  no  sae 
hard-hairted." 

Jean  Carnie.  Oh,  the  jaud  I  Suppose  he  was  a  Jew, 
it  was  na  her  business  to  clean  him  oot. 

A  Young  Fishwife.  A  weel,  it  was  only  a  Jew  body, 
that's  my  comfort. 

Christie.  Ye  speak  as  a  Jew  was  na  a  man ;  has  not 
a  Jew  eyes,  if  ye  please  ? 

Lizzy  Johnstone.  Ay,  has  he  !  and  the  awfuest  lang 
ueb  atween  'em. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  91 

Christie.     Has  not  a  Jew  affections,  paassions,  organs  ? 

Jean.     Na,  Christie  !  thir  lads  comes  fr'  Italy  ! 

Christie.  If  you  prick  him,  does  he  not  bleed  ?  if  you 
tickle  him,  does  na  he  lauch  ? 

A  Young  Fishwife  (pertly).  I  never  kittlet  a  Jew,  for 
my  pairt,  sae  I'll  no  can  tell  ye. 

Christie.  If  you  poison  him,  does  he  not  die  ?  and  if 
you  wrang  him  (with  fury),  shall  he  not  revenge  ? 

Lizzy  Johnstone.     Oh,  but  ye're  a  fearsome  lass. 

Christie.  Wha'll  give  me  a  sang  for  my  bonny 
yarn  ? 

Lord  Ipsden,  who  had  been  an  unobserved  auditor  of 
the  latter  part  of  the  tale,  here  inquired  whether  she 
had  brought  her  book. 

"  What'n  bulk  ? 

"  Your  music-book." 

''  Here's  my  music-book,"  said  Jean,  roughly  tapping 
her  head. 

"And  here's  mines,"  said  Christie,  bird-ly,  touching 
her  bosom. 

"Richard,"  said  she.  thoughtfully,  "I  wish  ye  may  no 
hae  been  getting  in  voolgar  company ;  div  ye  think  we 
hae  minds  like  rinning  water  ?  " 

Flucker  (avec  malice).  And  tongues  like  the  mill- 
clack  abune  it  ?  Because  if  ye  think  sae,  captain,  ye're 
no  far  wrang. 

Christie.  Na !  we  hae  na  muckle  gowd,  maybe,  but 
our  minds  are  gowden  vessels. 

Jean.     Aha,  lad. 

Christie.  They  are  not  saxpenny  sieves,  to  let  music 
an'  metre  through,  and  leave  us  none  the  wiser  or  better. 
Dinna  gang  in  low  voolgar  company,  or  you  a  lost  laddy, 

Ipsden.  Vulgar,  again !  everybody  has  a  different 
sense  for  that  word,  I  think.     What  is  vulgar  ? 

Christie.      Voolgar   folk    sit   on   an   chair,    ane,    twa, 


02  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

■whiles  three  lioiirs,  e.atin  an'  abune  a'  {Iriiikin,  as  still  as 
hoegs,  or  gruntin  piiir  every  day  clashes,  goessip,  ruh- 
bicli ;  when  ye  are  aside  theiu,  ye  might  as  weel  be  aside 
a  ouddy ;  they  canna  gie  ye  a  sang,  the}'  canna  tell  ye  a 
story,  they  canna  think  ye  a  thoucht,  to  save  their  use- 
less lives  ;  that's  voolgar  folk. 

She  sings.     "  A  caaller  herrin' ! " 

Jean.     "  A  caaller  herrin' ! " 

Onines. 

"Come  buy  my  boimy  caaller  heiTJn', 
Six  a  iK'iiiiy  caalli  r  lioiii  the  sea,"  etc. 

The  music  chimed  in,  and  the  moment  the  song  was 
done,  "without  pause,  or  anything  to  separate  or  chill  the 
succession  of  the  arts,  the  fitldles  diverged  with  a  gal- 
lant itlunge  into  "The  Dusty  Miller."  The  dancers 
f(.)und  their  feet  by  an  instinct  as  rapid,  and  a  rattling 
reel  shook  the  floor  like  thunder.  Jean  Carnie  assumed 
the  privilege  of  a  bride,  and  seized  his  lordship  ;  Christie, 
who  had  a  mind  to  dance  with  liini  too,  took  Flacker 
captive,  and  these  four  were  one  reel.  There  were  seven 
others. 

The  principle  of  reel-dancing  is  articulation ;  the  foot 
strikes  the  ground  for  every  accented  note ;  and,  by -the 
l)y,  it  is  their  weakness  of  accent  which  makes  all  Eng- 
lish reel  and  hornpipe  players  such  failures. 

And  in  the  best  steps  of  all,  which  it  has  in  common 
with  the  hornpipe,  such  as  the  quick  "heel  and  toe," 
the  "  sailor's  fling,"  and  the  "  double  shuffle,"  the  foot 
strikes  the  ground  for  every  single  note  of  the  instru- 
ment. 

All  good  dancing  is  beautiful. 

But  this  articulate  dancing,  compared  with  the  loose, 
lawless  diffluence  of  motion  that  goes  by  that  name, 
gives  me  (I  must  confess  it)  as  much  more  pleasure  as 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  93 

articulate  singing  is  superior  to  tunes   played   on  the 
voice  by  a  young  lady. 

Or  the  clean  playing  of  my  mother  to  the  pianoforte 
splashing  of  my  daughter ;  though  the  latter  does  attack 
the  instrument  as  a  washerwoman  her  soapsuds^  and  the 
former  works  like  a  lady ; 

Or  skating  to  sliding  ; 

Or  English  verse  to  dactyls  in  English ; 

Or  painting  to  daubing ; 

Or  preserved  strawberries  to  strawberry  jam. 

What  says  Goldsmith  of  the  two  styles  ? 

"  They  swam,  sprawled,  frisked,  and  languished ;  but 
Olivia's  foot  was  as  pat  to  the  music  as  its  echo."  —  Vicar 
of  Wakefield. 

Newhaven  dancing  aims  also  at  fun ;  laughter  mingles 
with  agility ;  grotesque,  yet  graceful  gestures  are  flung 
in,  and  little  inspiriting  cries  flung  out. 

His  lordship  soon  entered  into  the  spirit  of  it.  Deep 
in  the  mystery  of  the  hornpipe,  he  danced  one  or  two 
steps  Jean  and  Christie  had  never  seen,  but  their  eyes 
were  instantly  on  his  feet,  and  they  caught  in  a  minute, 
and  executed  these  same  steps. 

To  see  Christie  Johnstone  do  the  double-shuffle  with 
her  arms  so  saucily  a-kimbo,  and  her  quick,  elastic  foot 
at  an  angle  of  f  orty-tive,  was  a  treat. 

The  dance  became  inspiriting,  inspiring,  intoxicating ; 
and  when  the  flddles  at  last  left  off,  the  feet  went  on 
another  seven  bars  by  the  enthusiastic  impulse. 

And  so,  alternately  spinning  yarns,  singing  songs, 
dancing,  and  making  fun,  and  mingling  something  of 
heart  and  brain  in  all,  these  benighted  creatures  made 
themselves  happy  instead  of  peevish,  and  with  a  day  of 
stout,  vigorous,  healthy  pleasure,  refreshed,  indemnified, 
and  warmed  themselves  for  many  a  day  of  toil. 

Such  were  the  two  picnics  of  Inch  Coombe,  and  these 


94  CHRISTIE    .JOHNSTONE. 

rival  cliques,  agreeing  in  nothing  else,  would  have  agreed 
iu  this:  each,  if  allowed  (but  we  won't  allow  either)  to 
judge  the  other,  would  liave  pronounced  the  same 
verdict,  — 

''lis  ne  sarent  p(is  vivre  res  geris-lhy 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  95 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Two  of  our  personages  left  Inch  Coombe  less  happy 
than  when  they  came  to  it. 

Lord  Ipsclen  encountered  Lady  Barbara  with  j\Ir. , 

who  had  joined  her  upon  the  island. 

He  found  them  discoursing,  as  usual,  about  the  shams 
of  the  present  day,  and  the  sincerity  of  Cromwell  and 
Mahomet,  and  he  found  himself  de  trop. 

They  made  him,  for  the  first  time,  regret  the  loss  of 
those  earnest  times  when,  "  to  avoid  the  inconvenience 
of  both  addressing  the  same  lady,"  you  could  cut  a  rival's 
throat  at  once,  and  be  smiled  on  by  the  fair  and  society''. 

That  a  book-maker  should  blaspheme  high  civilization, 
by  which  alone  he  exists,  and  one  of  whose  diseases  and 
flying  pains  he  is,  neither  surprised  nor  moved  him ;  but 
that  any  human  being's  actions  should  be  affected  by 
such  tempestuous  twaddle,  was  ridiculous. 

And  that  the  witty  Lad\'  Barbara  should  be  caught  by 
this  chaff  was  intolerable ;  he  began  to  feel  bitter. 

He  had  the  blessings  of  the  poor,  the  good  opinion  of 
the  world ;  every  living  creature  was  prepossessed  in  his 
favor  but  one,  and  that  one  despised  him ;  it  was  a  dia- 
bolical prejudice  ;  it  was  the  spiteful  caprice  of  his  fate. 

His  heart,  for  a  moment,  was  in  danger  of  deteriorat- 
ing. He  was  miserable  ;  the  devil  suggested  to  him, 
"  make  others  miserable  too ; "  and  he  listened  to  the 
advice. 

There  was  a  fine  breeze,  but  instead  of  sailing  on  a 
wind,  as  he  might  have  done,  he  made  a  series  of  tacks, 
and  all  were  ill. 


96  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

The  earnest  man  first ;  and  Flucker  announced  the  skip- 
per's insanity  to  the  whole  town  of  Newhaven,  for,  of 
course,  these  tacks  were  all  marine  solecisms. 

The  other  discontented  ]jicnic-ian  was  Christie  John- 
stone. Gatty  never  came  ;  and  this,  coupled  with  five  or 
six  days'  previous  neglect,  could  no  longer  pass  unnoticed. 

Her  gayet}'  failed  her  before  the  afternoon  was  ended ; 
and  the  last  two  hours  were  spent  by  her  alone,  watch- 
ing the  water  on  all  sides  for  him. 

At  last,  long  after  the  departure  of  his  lordship's 
yacht,  the  Newhaven  boat  sailed  from  Inch  Coombe  with 
the  wedding  {)arty.  There  was  now  a  strong  breeze,  and 
the  water  every  now  and  then  came  on  board ;  so  the 
men  set  the  foresail  with  two  reefs,  and  drew  the  main- 
sail over  the  women ;  and  there,  as  they  huddled  together 
in  the  dark,  Jean  Carnie  discovered  that  our  gay  story- 
teller's eyes  were  wet  with  tears. 

Jean  said  nothing ;  she  embraced  her,  and  made  them 
flow  faster. 

But  when  they  came  alongside  the  pier,  Jean,  who  was 
the  first  to  get  her  head  from  under  the  sail,  whipped  it 
back  again,  and  said  to  Christie,  — 

"  Here  he  is,  Christie  ;  dinna  speak  till  him." 

And  sure  enough  there  was,  in  the  twilight,  with  a 
pale  face  and  an  uneasy  look  —  Mr.  Charles  Gatty ! 

He  peered  timidly  into  the  boat,  and  when  he  saw 
Christie,  an  "  Ah ! "  that  seemed  to  mean  twenty  different 
things  at  once,  burst  from  his  bosom.  He  held  out  his 
arm  to  assist  her. 

She  cast  on  him  one  glance  of  mute  reproach,  and 
placing  her  foot  on  the  boat's  gunwale,  sprang  like  an 
antelope  upon  the  pier,  without  accepting  his  assistance. 

Before  going  farther,  we  must  go  back  for  this  boy, 
and  conduct  him  from  where  we  left  him  up  to  the 
present  point. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  97 

The  moment  he  found  himself  alone  with  Jean  Carnie, 
in  his  own  house,  he  began  to  tell  her  what  trouble  he 
was  in ;  how  his  mother  had  convinced  him  of  his 
imprudence  in  falling  in  love  with  Christie  Johnstone ; 
and  how  she  insisted  on  a  connection  being  broken  off, 
which  had  given  him  his  first  glimpse  of  heaven  upon 
earth,  and  was  contrary  to  common-sense. 

Jean  heard  him  out,  and  then,  with  the  air  of  a  lunatic- 
asylum  keeper  to  a  rhodomontading  patient,  told  him 
"  he  was  one  fool,  and  his  mother  was  another."  First 
she  took  him  up  on  the  score  of  prudence. 

"  You,"  said  she,  "  are  a  beggarly  painter,  without  a 
rap ;  Christie  has  houses,  boats,  nets,  and  money  :  you 
are  in  debt ;  she  lays  by  money  every  week.  It  is  not 
prudent  on  her  part  to  take  up  with  you  —  the  better 
your  bargain,  my  lad." 

Under  the  head  of  common-sense,  which  she  main- 
tained was  all  on  the  same  side  of  the  question,  she 
calmly  inquired,  — 

"  How  could  an  old  woman  of  sixty  be  competent  to 
judge  how  far  human  happiness  depends  on  love,  when 
she  has  no  experience  of  that  passion,  and  the  reminis- 
cences of  her  youth  have  become  dim  and  dark  ?  You 
might  as  well  set  a  judge  in  court,  that  has  forgotten  the 
law,  —  common-sense ;  "  said  she,  "  the  old  wife  is  sixty, 
and  you  are  twenty  —  what  can  she  do  for  you  the  forty 
years  you  may  reckon  to  outlive  her  ?  Who  is  to  keep 
you  through  those  weary  years,  but  the  wife  of  your  own 
choice,  not  your  mother's  ?  You  English  does  na  read 
the  Bible,  or  ye'd  ken  that  a  lad  is  to  '  leave  his  father 
and  mother,  and  cleave  until  his  Avife, ' "  added  she ; 
then,  with  great  contempt,  she  repeated,  *' common-sense, 
indeed  !  ye're  fou  wi'  your  common-sense ;  ye  hae  the 
name  o't  pat  eneuch  —  but  there's  na  muckle  o'  that 

mairehandize  in  your  hams." 

Vol.  9—10 


98  CHRISTIE   .JOHNSTONE. 

Gatty  was  astonished :  what!  was  there  reallj'  eommon- 
sense  on  the  side  of  bliss  ?  and  when  Jean  told  him  to 
join  her  party  at  Inch  Coonibe,  or  never  look  her  in  the 
face  again,  scales  seemed  to  fall  from  his  eyes ;  and  with 
a  heart  that  turned  in  a  moment  from  lead  to  a  feather, 
he  vowed  he  would  be  at  Inch  Coombe. 

He  then  begged  Jean  on  no  account  to  tell  Christie 
the  struggle  he  had  been  subjected  to,  since  his  scruples 
were  now  entirely  conquered. 

Jean  acquiesced  at  once,  and  said,  *'  Indeed,  she  would 
be  very  sorry  to  give  the  lass  that  muckle  pain." 

She  hinted,  moreover,  that  her  neebor's  spirit  was  so 
high,  she  was  quite  capable  of  breaking  with  him  at  once 
upon  such  an  intimation;  and  she,  Jean,  was  "nae  mis- 
chief-maker." 

In  the  energy  of  his  gratitude,  he  kissed  this  dark- 
browed  beauty,  professing  to  see  in  her  a  sister. 

And  she  made  no  resistance  to  this  way  of  showing 
gratitude,  but  muttered  between  lier  teeth,  "  He's  just  a 
bairn  ! " 

And  so  she  went  about  her  business. 

On  her  retreat,  his  mother  returned  to  him,  and,  with 
a  sad  air,  hoped  nothing  that  that  rude  girl  had  said  had 
weakened  his  filial  duty. 

"  No,  mother,"  said  he. 

She  then,  without  explaining  how  she  came  acquainted 
with  Jean's  arguments,  proceeded  to  demolish  them  one 
by  one. 

"  If  your  mother  is  old  and  experienced,"  said  she, 
"benefit  by  her  age  and  experience.  She  has  not  for- 
gotten love,  nor  the  ills  it  leads  to,  when  not  fortified  by 
prudence.  Scripture  says,  a  man  shall  cleave  to  his  wife 
when  he  has  left  his  parents  ;  but  in  making  that,  the 
most  important  step  of  life,  where  do  3'ou  read  that  he 
is   to  break  the  fifth  commandment  ?     But  I    do   you 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  90 

Avrong,  Charles,  you  never  could  have  listened  to  that 
vulgar  girl  when  she  told  you  your  mother  was  not  your 
best  friend." 

"  N — no,  mother,  of  course  not." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go  to  that  place  to  break  my  heart, 
and  undo  all  you  have  done  this  week  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  go,  mother." 

"  You  will  break  my  heart  if  you  do." 

"Christie  will  feel  herself  slighted,  and  she  has  not 
deserved  this  treatment  from  me." 

"  The  other  will  explain  to  her,  and  if  she  is  as  good  a 
girl  as  you  say  "  — 

"  She  is  an  angel !  " 

"  How  can  a  fishwife  be  an  angel  ?  Well,  then  she 
will  not  set  a  son  to  disobey  his  mother." 

"■  I  don't  think  she  would !  but  is  all  the  goodness  to 
be  on  her  side  ?  " 

"  No,  Charles,  you  do  your  part ;  deny  yourself,  be  an 
obedient  child,  and  your  mother's  blessing  and  the  bless- 
ing of  Heaven  will  rest  upon  you." 

Tn  short,  he  was  not  to  go  to  Inch  Coombe. 

He  stayed  at  home,  his  mother  set  him  to  work ;  he 
made  a  poor  hand  of  it,  he  was  so  wretclied.  She  at  last 
took  compassion  on  him,  and  in  the  evening,  Avhen  it 
was  now  too  late  for  a  sail  to  Inch  Coombe,  she  herself 
recommended  a  walk  to  him. 

The  poor  boy's  feet  took  him  towards  Newhaveu,  not 
that  he  meant  to  go  to  his  love,  but  he  could  not  forbear 
from  looking  at  the  place  which  held  her. 

He  was  about  to  return,  when  a  spacious  blue  jacket 
hailed  him.  Somewhere  inside  this  jacket  was  Master 
Flucker,  who  had  returned  in  the  yacht,  leaving  his  sister 
on  the  island. 

,Gatty  instantly  poured  out  a  flood  of  questions. 

The  baddish  boy  reciprocated  fluency  ;  he  informed 


100  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

him  "  that  his  sister  had  been  the  star  of  a  goodly  com- 
pany, and  that  her  own  lad  having  stayed  away,  she  had 
condescended  to  make  a  conquest  of  the  skipper  him- 
self. 

"  He  had  come  in  quite  at  the  tag  end  of  one  of  her 
stories,  but  it  had  been  suthcient  to  do  his  business  —  he 
had  danced  with  her,  had  even  whistled  whilst  she  sung. 
(Hech,  it  was  bonny  I) 

"  And  when  the  cutter  sailed,  he  (Flucker)  had  seen 
her  perched  on  a  rock,  like  a  mermaid,  watching  their 
progress,  which  had  been  slow,  because  the  skipper,  in- 
fatuated with  so  sudden  a  passion,  had  made  a  series  of 
ungrammatical  tacks. 

"  For  his  part  he  was  glad,"  said  the  gracious  Flucker ; 
"the  lass  was  a  prideful  hussy,  that  had  given  some 
twenty  lads  a  sore  heart  and  him  many  a  sore  back ;  and 
he  hoped  his  skipper,  with  whom  he  naturally  identified 
himself  rather  than  with  his  sister,  would  avenge  the 
male  sex  upon  her." 

In  short,  he  went  upon  this  tack  till  he  drove  poor 
Gatty  nearly  mad. 

Here  was  a  new  feeling  superadded ;  at  first  he  felt 
injured,  but  on  reflection  what  cause  of  complaint  had 
he? 

He  had  neglected  her;  he  might  have  been  her  partner 
—  he  had  left  her  to  find  one  where  she  could. 

Fool,  to  suppose  that  so  beautiful  a  creature  would 
ever  be  neglected  —  except  by  him  ! 

It  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

He  determined  to  see  her,  to  ask  her  forgiveness,  to 
tell  her  everything,  to  beg  her  to  decide,  and,  for  his 
part,  he  would  abide  by  her  decision. 

Christie  Johnstone,  as  we  have  already  related,  de- 
clined his  arm,  sprang  like  a  deer  upon  the  pier,  and 
walked  towards  her  home,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  101 

Gatty  followed  her,  disconsolately,  hardly  knowing 
what  to  do. 

At  last,  observing  that  she  drew  near  enough  to  the 
wall  to  allow  room  for  another  on  the  causeway,  he  had 
just  nous  enough  to  creep  alongside,  and  pull  her  sleeve 
somewhat  timidly. 

"  Christie,  1  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  What  can  ye  hae  to  say  till  me  ?  " 

"  Christie,  I  am  very  unhappy ;  and  I  want  to  tell  you 
why,  but  I  have  hardly  the  strength  or  the  courage." 

"  Ye  shall  come  ben  my  hoose  if  ye  are  unhappy,  and 
we'll  hear  your  story  ;  come  away." 

He  had  never  been  admitted  into  her  house  before. 

They  found  it  clean  as  a  snowdrift. 

They  found  a  bright  fire,  and  Flucker  frying  innumer- 
able steaks. 

The  baddish  boy  had  obtained  them  in  his  sister's 
name  and  at  her  expense,  at  the  flesher's,  and  claimed 
credit  for  his  affection. 

Potatoes  he  had  boiled  in  their  jackets,  and  so  skil- 
fully, that  those  jackets  hung  by  a  thread. 

Christie  laid  an  unbleached  tablecloth,  that  somehow 
looked  sweeter  than  a  white  one,  as  brown  bread  is 
sweeter  than  white. 

But  lo,  Gatty  could  uot  eat;  so  then  Christie  would 
not,  because  he  refused  her  cheer. 

The  baddish  boy  chuckled,  and  addressed  himself  to 
the  nice  brown  steaks  with  their  rich  gravy. 

On  such  occasions  a  solo  on  the  knife  and  fork  seemed 
better  than  a  trio  to  the  gracious  Flucker. 

Christie  moved  about  the  room,  doing  little  household 
matters  ;  Gatty's  eye  followed  her. 

Her  beauty  lost  nothing  in  this  small  apartment ;  she 
was  here,  like  a  brilliant  in  some  quaint,  rough  setting, 
which  all  earth's  jewellers  should  despise,  and  all  its 


102  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

poets  admire,  and  it  should  show  off  the  stone  and  not 
itself. 

Her  beanty  filled  the  room,  and  almost  made  the  spec- 
tators ill. 

Gatty  asked  himself  whether  he  could  really  have 
been  such  a  fool  as  to  think  of  giving  up  so  peerless  a 
creature. 

Suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  him,  a  bright  one,  and 
not  inconsistent  with  a  true  artist's  character  —  he  would 
decline  to  act  in  so  doubtful  a  case ;  he  would  float  pass- 
ively down  the  tide  of  events  —  he  would  neither  desert 
her,  nor  disobey  his  mother;  he  would  take  everything 
as  it  came,  and  to  begin,  as  he  was  there,  he  would  for 
the  present  say  nothing  but  what  he  felt,  and  what  he 
felt  was  that  he  loved  her. 

He  told  her  so  accordingly. 

She  replied,  concealing  her  satisfaction,  ''  that  if  he 
liked  her,  he  would  not  have  refused  to  eat  when  she 
asked  liim." 

But  our  hero's  appetite  had  returned  with  his  change 
of  purpose,  and  he  instantly  volunteered  to  give  the 
required  proof  of  affection. 

Accordingly  two  pound  of  steaks  fell  before  him. 

Poor  boy  —  he  had  hardly  eaten  a  genuine  meal  for  a 
wcpk  past. 

Christie  sat  opposite  him,  and  every  time  he  looked 
off  his  plate,  he  saw  her  rich  blue  eyes  dwelling  on  him. 

Everything  contributed  to  warm  his  heart,  he  yielded 
to  the  spell,  he  became  contented,  happy,  gay. 

Flucker  ginger-cordialled  him,  his  sister  bewitched 
liim. 

She  related  the  day's  events  in  a  merry  mood. 

^Ir.  Gatty  burst  forth  into  singing. 

He  sung  two  light  and  sombre  trifles,  such  as  in  the 
present  day  are  deemed  generally  encouraging  to  the 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTOXE.  103 

spirits,  and  particularly  in  accordance  with  the  senti- 
ment of  supper  —  they  were  about  death,  and  ivy  green. 

The  dog's  voice  was  not  very  powerful,  but  sweet  and 
round  as  honey  dropping  from  the  comb. 

His  two  hearers  were  entranced,  for  the  creature  sang 
with  an  inspiration  good  singers  dare  not  indulge. 

He  concluded  by  informing  Christie  that  the  iv}^  was 
symbolical  of  her,  and  the  oak  prefigured  Charles  Gatty, 
Esq. 

He  might  have  inverted  the  simile  with  more  truth. 

In  short,  he  never  said  a  word  to  Christie  about  part- 
ing with  her,  but  several  about  being  buried  in  the  same 
grave  with  her,  sixty  years  hence,  for  which  the  spot  he 
selected  was  Westminster  Abbey. 

And  away  he  went,  leaving  golden  opinions  behind 
him. 

The  next  day  Christie  was  so  affected  with  his  con- 
duct, coming  as  it  did,  after  an  apparent  coolness,  that 
she  conquered  her  bashfulness  and  called  on  the  ''  Vile 
Count,"  and  with  some  blushes  and  hesitation,  inquired 
"  Whether  a  painter  lad  was  a  fit  subject  of  charity." 

"  Wh}^  not  ?  "  said  his  lordship. 

She  then  told  him  Gatty's  case,  and  he  instantly  prom- 
ised to  see  that  artist's  pictures,  particularly  "  ane  awfu' 
bonny  ane,"  the  hero  of  which  she  described  as  an  Eng- 
lish minister  blessing  the  bairns  with  one  hand,  and  giv- 
ing orders  to  kill  the  puir  Scoetch  with  the  other. 

"  C'est  er/al"  said  Christie  in  Scotch,  "its  awfu'  bonny." 

Gatty  reached  home  late ;  his  mother  had  retired  to 
rest. 

But  the  next  morning  she  drew  from  him  what  had 
happened,  and  then  ensued  another  of  those  dialogues 
which  I  am  ashamed  again  to  give  the  reader. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  she  once  more  prevailed,  though 
with  far  greater  difficulty.    Time  was  to  be  given  him  to 


104  CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE. 

unsew  a  connection  wliioli  lie  could  not  cut  asunder,  and 
he,  with  tearful  eyes  and  a  heavy  heart,  agreed  to  take 
some  step  the  very  first  opportunity. 

This  concession  was  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  ere  his 
mother  made  him  kneel  down  and  bestowed  her  blessing 
upon  him.  He  received  it  coldly  and  dull}',  and  ex- 
pressed a  languid  hope  it  might  prove  a  cliarm  to  save 
him  from  despair,  and  sad,  bitter,  and  dejected,  forced 
himself  to  sit  down  and  work  on  the  picture  that  was  to 
meet  his  unrelenting  creditor's  demand. 

He  was  working  on  his  jjicture,  and  his  mother  with 
her  needle  at  the  table,  when  a  knock  was  heard,  and, 
gay  as  a  lark,  and  fresh  as  the  dew  on  the  shamrock, 
Christie  Johnstone  stood  in  person  in  the  apart- 
ment. 

81ie  was  evidently  the  bearer  of  good  tidings ;  but 
before  she  could  express  them,  Mrs.  Gatty  beckoned  her 
son  aside,  and  announcing  ''  she  should  be  within  hear- 
ing," bade  him  take  the  occasion  that  so  hajipily  pre- 
sented itself,  and  make  the  first  step. 

At  another  time,  Christie,  who  had  learned  from  Jean 
the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Gatty,  woidd  have  been  struck  with 
the  old  lady's  silence ;  but  she  came  to  tell  the  depressed 
painter  that  the  charitable  viscount  was  about  to  visit 
him  and  his  picture ;  and  she  Avas  so  full  of  the  good 
fortune  likely  to  ensue,  that  she  was  neglectful  of  minor 
considerations. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  certain  interruptions 
prevented  her  from  ever  delivering  herself  of  the  news 
in  question. 

First,  Gatty  himself  came  to  her,  and,  casting  uneasy 
glances  at  the  door  by  which  his  mother  had  just  gone 
out,  said,  — 

"Christie!" 

«  My  lad ! " 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  105 

"  I  want  to  paint  your  likeness." 

This  was  for  a  souvenir,  poor  fellow  ! 

"  Hech  !  I  wad  like  fine  to  be  painted." 

"  It  must  be  exactly  the  same  size  as  yourself,  and  so 
like  you,  that  should  we  be  parted  I  may  seem  not  to  be 
quite  alone  in  the  world." 

Here  he  was  obliged  to  turn  his  head  away. 

"  But  we'll  no  pairt,"  replied  Christie  cheerfully. 
"  Suppose  ye're  puir,  I'm  rich,  and  it's  a'  one  ;  dinna  be 
so  cast  down  for  auchty  pund." 

At  this  a  slipshod  servant  entered,  and  said,  — 

"There's  a  fisher  lad  inquiring  for  Christie  John- 
stone." 

"  It  will  be  Flucker,"  said  Christie  ;  "  show  him  ben. 
What's  wrang  the  noo,  I  wonder  ?  " 

The  baddish  boy  entered,  took  up  a  position,  and 
remained  apparently  passive,  hands  in  pockets. 

Christie.     Aweel,  what  est  ? 

Flucker.     Custy. 

Christie.     What's  your  will,  my  manny  ? 

Flucker.     Custy,  I  was  at  Inch  Keith  the  day. 

Christie.  And  hae  ye  really  come  to  Edinbro'  to  tell 
me  thaat  ? 

Flucker  (dryly).  Oh !  ye  ken  the  lasses  are  a  hantle 
wiser  than  we  are  —  will  ye  hear  me  ?  South  Inch 
Keith,  I  played  a  bowl  i'  the  water,  just  for  divairsion, 
—  and  I  catched  twarree  fish  ! 

Christie.     Floonders,  I  bet. 

Flucker.  Does  floonders  swim  high  ?  I'll  let  you  see 
his  gills,  and  if  ye  are  a  reicht  fishwife  ye'll  smell 
bluid. 

Here  he  opened  his  jacket,  and  showed  a  bright  little 
fish. 

In  a  moment  all  Christie's  nonchalance  gave  way  to  a 
fiery  animation.     She  darted  to  Flucker's  side. 


106  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

"  Ye  hae  na  been  sae  daft  as  tell '/  "  asked  she. 

Flucker  shook  his  head  contemptuously. 

"  Ony  birds  at  the  island,  Flucker  ?  " 

"  Sea-maws,  i)lonty,  and  a  bird  I  dinna  ken;  he  moonted 
sae  high,  then  doon  like  thunder  intil  the  sea,  and  gart 
the  water  flee  as  high  as  Haman,  and  porpoises  as  big 
as  my  boat." 

"  Porr-poises,  fulish  laddy — ye  hae  seen  the  herrin 
whale  at  his  wark,  and  the  solant  guse  ye  hae  seen  her 
at  wark  ;  and  beneath  the  sea,  Flucker,  every  coed-fish 
iind  doeg-fish,  and  fish  that  has  teeth,  is  after  them  ;  and 
lialf  Scotland  wad  be  at  Inch  Keith  Island  if  they  kenned 
what  ye  hae  tell't  me  —  dinna  speak  to  me." 

During  this,  Gatty,  who  did  not  comprehend  this  sud- 
den excitement,  or  thought  it  childish,  had  tried  in  vain 
to  win  her  attention. 

At  last  lie  said  a  little  peevishly,  "  Will  you  not  attend 
to  me,  and  tell  me  at  least  when  you  will  sit  to  me  ?  " 

"  Set !  "  cried  she.  "  When  there's  nae  wark  to  be 
done  stanning." 

And  with  this  she  was  gone.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
she  said  to  her  brother,  — 

''  Puir  lad  !  I'll  sune  draw  auchty  punds  f  ra'  the  sea 
for  him,  with  my  feyther's  nets." 

As  she  disappeared,  Mrs.  Gatty  appeared. 

"  And  this  is  the  woman  whose  mind  was  not  in  her 
dirty  business,"  cried  she.  "  Does  not  that  open  your 
eyes,  Charles  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Charles,"  added  she  tenderly,  "  there's  no  friend 
like  a  mother." 

And  off  she  carried  the  prize  ;  his  vanity  had  been 
mortified. 

And  so  that  happened  to  Christie  Johnstone  which 
has  befallen  many  a  woman,  —  the  greatness  of  her  love 
made  that  love  appear  small  to  her  lover. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  107 

"  All !  motlier/'  cried  lie,  •'■  I  must  live  for  you  and  my 
art :  I  am  not  so  dear  to  her  as  I  thought." 

And  so,  -u-ith  a  sad  heart,  he  turned  away  from  her, 
whilst  she,  with  a  light  heart,  darted  away  to  think  and 
act  for  him. 


106  CHRISTIE   J0HNST0N15. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

It  was  some  two  hours  after  this  that  a  gentleman, 
plainly  dressed,  but  whose  clothes  seemed  a  part  of  him- 
self, —  whereas  mine  I  have  observed  hang  upon  me,  and 
the  Rev.  Josiah  Splitall's  stick  to  him,  —  glided  into  the 
painter's  room,  with  an  inquiry  whether  he  had  not  a 
picture  or  two  disposable. 

*'I  have  one  finished  picture,  sir,"  said  the  poor  boy, 
"  but  the  price  is  high." 

He  brought  it,  in  a  faint-hearted  way,  for  he  had 
shown  it  to  five  picture-dealers,  and  all  five  agreed  it 
was  hard. 

He  had  painted  a  lime-tree,  distant  fifty  yards,  and  so 
painted  it  that  it  looked  something  like  a  lime-tree  fifty 
yards  off. 

"  That  was  viesquin,"  said  his  judges  ;  "  the  poetry  of 
painting  required  abstract  trees  at  metaphysical  distance, 
not  the  various  trees  of  nature  as  they  appear  under 
positive  accidents." 

On  this  Mr.  Gatty  had  deluged  them  with  words. 

"  When  it  is  art,  truth,  or  sense,  to  fuse  a  cow,  a  horse, 
and  a  critic,  into  one  undistinguishable  quadruped,  with 
six  legs,  then  it  will  be  art  to  melt  an  ash,  an  elm,  and 
a  lime,  things  that  differ  more  than  quadrupeds,  into 
Avhat  you  call  abstract  trees,  that  any  man  who  has  seen 
a  tree,  as  well  as  looked  at  one,  would  call  drunken 
stinging-nettles.  You,  who  never  look  at  nature,  how 
can  you  judge  the  arts,  which  are  all  but  copies  of 
nature  ?  At  two  hundred  yards  distance,  full-grown 
trees  are  more  distinguishable  than   the  animal  tribe. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  109 

Paint  me  an  abstract  human  being,  neither  man  nor  a 
woman,"  said  he,  "  and  then  I  will  agree  to  paint  a  tree 
that  shall  be  no  tree ;  and  if  no  man  will  buy  it,  perhaps 
the  father  of  lies  will  take  it  off  my  hands,  and  hang  it 
in  the  only  place  it  would  not  disgrace." 

In  short,  he  never  left  off  till  he  had  crushed  the  non- 
buyers  with  eloquence  and  satire  ;  but  he  could  not  crush 
them  into  buyers,  —  they  beat  him  at  the  passive  retort. 

Poor  Gatty,  when  the  momentary  excitement  of  argu- 
ment had  subsided,  drank  the  bitter  cup  all  must  drink 
awhile,  whose  bark  is  alive  and  strong  enough  to  stem 
the  current  down  which  the  dead,  weak  things  of  the 
world  are  drifting,  many  of  them  into  safe  harbors. 

And  now  he  brought  out  his  picture  with  a  heavy 
heart. 

"  Xow,"  said  he  to  himself,  •'  this  gentleman  will  talk 
me  dead,  and  leave  me  no  richer  in  coin,  and  poorer  in 
time  and  patience." 

The  picture  was  placed  in  a  light,  the  visitor  sat  down 
before  it. 

A  long  pause  ensued. 

"  Has  he  fainted  ?  "  thought  Gatty,  ironically  ;  "  he 
doesn't  gabble." 

'•'If  you  do  not  mind  painting  before  me,"  said  the 
visitor,  *•'  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  continue  whilst  I 
look  into  this  picture." 

Gatty  painted. 

The  visitor  held  his  tongue. 

At  first  the  silence  made  the  artist  uneasy,  but  by 
degrees  it  began  to  give  him  pleasure ;  whoever  this  was, 
it  was  not  one  of  the  flies  that  had  hitherto  stung  him, 
nor  the  jackdaws  that  had  chattered  him  dead. 

Glorious  silence  I  he  began  to  paint  under  its  influence 
like  one  inspired. 

Half  an  hoxir  passed  thus. 


110  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

""What  is  the  price  of  this  work  of  art  ?  " 

"Eighty  pounds." 

"  I  take  it,"  said  his  visitor,  quietly. 

What,  no  more  difficulty  than  that  ?  He  felt  almost 
disappointed  at  gaining  his  object  so  easily. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,  sir ;  much  obliged  to  you,"  he 
added,  for  he  reflected  what  eighty  pounds  were  to  him 
just  then. 

"  It  is  my  descendants  who  are  obliged  to  you,"  re- 
plied the  gentleman  ;  "  the  picture  is  immortal ! " 

These  words  were  an  epoch  in  the  painter's  life. 

The  grave,  silent  inspection  that  had  preceded  them, 
the  cool,  deliberate,  masterly  tone  in  which  they  were 
said,  made  them  oracular  to  him. 

Words  of  such  import  took  him  by  surprise. 

He  had  thirsted  for  average  praise  in  vain. 

A  hand  had  taken  him,  and  placed  him  at  the  top  of 
the  tree. 

He  retired  abruptly,  or  he  would  have  burst  into 
tears. 

He  ran  to  his  mother. 

" Mother," said  he,  "I  am  a  painter;  T  always  thought 
so  at  bottom,  but  I  suppose  it  is  the  height  of  my  ideas 
makes  me  discontented  with  my  work." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"There  is  a  critic  in  my  room.  I  had  no  idea  there 
was  a  critic  in  the  creation,  and  there  is  one  in  my 
room." 

"  Has  he  bought  your  picture,  my  poor  boy  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Gatty,  distrustfully. 

To  her  surprise  he  replied : 

"Yes!  he  has  got  it;  only  eighty  pounds  for  an 
immortal  picture." 

Mrs.  Gatty  was  overjoyed,  Gatty  was  a  little  sad ;  but 
reviving,  he  professed  himself  glad  j  the  picture  was 
going  to  a  judge. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  Ill 

"  It  is  not  mucli  money,"  said  he,  "  but  the  man  has 
spoken  words  that  are  ten  thousand  pounds  to  me." 

He  returned  to  the  room ;  his  visitor,  hat  in  hand,  was 
about  to  go ;  a  few  words  were  spoken  about  the  art  of 
painting,  tliis  led  to  a  conversation,  and  then  to  a  short 
discussion. 

The  new-comer  soon  showed  Mr.  Charles  Gatty  his 
ignorance  of  facts. 

This  man  had  sat  quietly  before  a  miiltitude  of  great 
pictures,  new  and  old,  in  Europe. 

He  cooled  down  Charles  Gatt}^,  Esq.,  monopolist  of 
nature  and  truth. 

He  quoted  to  him  thirty  painters  in  Germany,  who 
paint  every  stroke  of  a  landscape  in  the  open  air,  and 
forty  in  various  nations  who  had  done  it  in  times  past. 

"  You,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  appear  to  hang  on  the  skirts 
of  a  certain  clique,  who  handle  the  brush  well,  but  draw 
ill,  and  look  at  natiire  through  the  spectacles  of  certain 
ignorant  painters  who  spoiled  canvas  four  hundred  years 
ago. 

"  Go  no  farther  in  that  direction. 

'•'Those  boys,  like  all  quacks,  have  one  great  truth 
which  they  disfigure  with  more  than  one  falsehood. 

"  Hold  fast  their  trvith,  which  is  a  truth  the  world  has 
always  possessed,  though  its  practice  has  been  confined 
to  the  honest  and  laborious  few. 

"Eschew  their  want  of  mind  and  taste. 

"  Shrink  with  horror  from  that  profane  cidte  de  laideur, 
that  *love  of  the  lop-sided,'  they  have  recovered  from 
the  foul  receptacles  of  decayed  art." 

He  reminded  him  further,  that  "  Art  is  not  imitation, 
but  illusion  ;  that  a  plumber  and  glazier  of  our  da^y  and 
a  mediaeval  painter  are  more  alike  than  any  tv/o  repre- 
sentatives of  general  styles  that  can  be  found;  and  for 
the  same  reason,  namely,  that  with  each  of  these,  art  is 


112  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

in  its  infancy ;  these  two  sets  of  bunglers  have  not 
learned  how  to  produce  the  illusions  of  art." 

To  all  this  he  added  a  few  words  of  compliment  on 
the  mind,  as  well  as  mechanical  dexterity,  of  the  pur- 
chased picture,  bade  him  good-morning,  and  glided  away 
like  a  passing  sunbeam. 

"  A  mother's  blessing  is  a  great  thing  to  have,  and  to 
deserve,"  said  Mrs.  G-atty,  who  had  rejoined  her  son. 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  said  Charles.  He  could  not  help  being 
struck  by  the  coincidence. 

He  had  made  a  sacrifice  to  his  mother,  and  in  a  few 
hours  one  of  his  troubles  had  melted  away. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections  arrived  Mr.  Saunders 
with  a  note. 

The  note  contained  a  check  for  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  with  these  lines,  in  which  the  writer  excused 
himself  for  the  amendment :  "  I  am  a  painter  myself," 
said  he,  "  and  it  is  impossible  that  eighty  pounds  can 
remunerate  the  time  expended  on  this  picture,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  skill." 

We  have  treated  this  poor  boy's  picture  hitherto  with 
just  contempt,  but  now  that  it  is  gone  into  a  famous  col- 
lection, mind,  we  always  admired  it ;  we  always  said  so, 
we  take  our  oath  Ave  did ;  if  we  have  hitherto  deferred 
framing  it,  that  was  merely  because  it  was  not  sold. 

MR.    GATTY's    picture,    AT    PRESENT    IN    THE    COLLECTION 
OF    LORD    IPSDEN. 

There  was,  hundreds  of  years  ago,  a  certain  Bishop  of 
Durham,  who  used  to  fight  in  person  against  the  Scotch, 
and  defeat  them.  When  he  was  not  with  his  flock,  the 
Northern  wolves  sometimes  scattered  it;  but  when  the 
holy  father  was  there,  with  his  prayers  and  his  battle- 
axe,  England  won  the  day  ! 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  113 

This  nettled  the  Scottish  king,  so  he  penetrated  one 
day,  with  a  large  band,  as  far  as  Durham  itself,  and  for 
a  short  time  blocked  the  prelate  up  in  his  stronghold. 
This  was  the  period  of  Mr.  Gatty's  picture ; 

Whose  title  was,  — 

'^  Half  Church  of  God,  half  Tower  against  the  Scot." 

In  the  background  was  the  cathedral,  on  the  towers  of 
which  paced  to  and  fro  men  in  armor,  with  the  western 
sun  glittering  thereon.  In  the  centre,  a  horse  and  cart, 
led  by  a  boy,  were  carrying  a  sheaf  of  arrows,  tied  with 
a  straw  band.  In  part  of  the  foreground  was  the  prelate, 
in  a  half  suit  of  armor,  but  bareheaded ;  he  was  turning 
away  from  the  boy,  to  whom  his  sinking  hand  had  indi- 
cated his  way  into  the  holy  castle,  and  his  benignant 
glance  rested  on  a  child,  whom  its  mother  was  holding 
up  for  his  benediction.  In  the  foreground  the  afternoon 
beams  sprinkled  gold  on  a  long  glassy  slope,  correspond- 
ing to  the  elevation  on  which  the  cathedral  stood,  sepa- 
rated by  the  river  Wear  from  the  group ;  and  these  calm 
beauties  of  nature,  with  the  mother  and  child,  were  the 
peaceful  side  of  this  twofold  story. 

Such  are  the  dry  details.  But  the  soul  of  its  charm 
no  pen  can  fling  on  paper.  For  the  stately  cathedral 
stood  and  lived :  the  little  leaves  slumbered  yet  lived ; 
and  the  story  floated  and  lived,  in  the  potable  gold  of 
summer  afternoon. 

To  look  at  this  painted  poem  was  to  feel  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  in  bare  existence  ;  it  went  through  the  eyes, 
where  paintings  stop,  and  warmed  the  depths  and  re- 
cesses of  the  heart  with  its  sunshine  and  its  glorious 
air. 


114  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"What  is  in  the  -wind  this  dark  night?  Six  New- 
haven  boats  and  twenty  boys  and  liobble-de-hoys,  hired 
by  the  Jolinstones  at  half  a  crown  each  for  a  night's  job.'' 

"  Secret  service  !  " 

"  What  is  it  for  ?  " 

"I  think  it  is  a  smuggling  lay,"  suggested  Flucker; 
"  but  we  shall  know  all  in  good  time." 

"  Smuggling !  "  their  countenances  fell,  they  had  lioped 
for  something  more  nearly  approaching  the  illegal. 

"  Maybe  she  has  fand  the  herrin'."  said  a  ten-year-old. 

"  Haw,  haw,  haw  !  "  went  the  others.  "  She  find  the 
herrin',  when  there's  five  hundred  fishermen  after  them 
baith  sides  the  Firrth." 

The  youngster  was  discomfited. 

In  fact  the  expedition  bore  no  signs  of  fishing. 

The  six  boats  sailed  at  sundown,  led  by  Flucker;  he 
brought-to  on  the  south  side  of  Inch  Keith,  and  nothing 
happened  for  about  an  hour. 

Then  such  boys  as  were  awake,  saw  tAvo  great  eyes  of 
light  coming  up  from  Granton  ;  rattle  went  the  chain 
cable,  and  Lord  Ipsden's  cutter  swung  at  anchor  in  four 
fathom  water. 

A  thousand  questions  to  Flucker. 

A  single  puff  of  tobacco  smoke  was  his  answer. 

And  now  crept  up  a  single  eye  of  light  from  Leith ; 
she  came  among  the  boats;  the  boys  recognized  a  crazy 
old  cutter  from  Leith  harbor,  with  Christie  Johnstone 
on  board. 

''  What  is  that  brown  heap  on  her  deck  ?  " 


CHRISTIE   JOHlfSTOXE.  115 

"  A  mountain  of  nets  —  fifty  stout  herring  nets." 

Tunc  manifesta  fides. 

A  yell  burst  from  all  the  boys. 

'•  He"s  gaun  to  tak  us  to  Dunbar.*' 

'■  Half  a  croown  I  ye're  no  blate." 

Christie  ordered  the  boats  alongside  her  cutter,  and 
five  nets  were  dropped  into  each  boat,  six  into  Flucker  s. 

The  depth  of  water  was  given  them,  and  they  were 
instructed  to  shoot  their  nets  so  as  to  keep  a  fathom  and 
a  half  above  the  rocky  bottom. 

A  herring  net  is  simply  a  wall  of  meshes  twelve  feet 
deep,  fifty  feet  long ;  it  sinks  to  a  vertical  position  by 
the  weight  of  net  twine,  and  is  kept  from  sinking  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  by  bladders  or  corks.  These  nets  are 
tied  to  one  another,  and  paid  out  at  the  stern  of  the  boat. 
Boat  and  nets  drift  with  the  tide  ;  if  therefore  the  nets 
touched  the  rocks  they  Avould  be  torn  to  pieces,  and  the 
fisherman  ruined. 

And  this  saves  the  herring — that  fish  lies  hours  and 
hours  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  sea,  like  a  stone,  and  the 
poor  fisherman  shall  drive  with  his  nets,  a  yard  or  two 
over  a  square  mile  of  fish,  and  not  catch  a  herring  tail ; 
on  the  other  hand,  if  they  rise  to  play  for  five  minutes, 
in  that  five  minutes  they  shall  fill  seven  hundred  boats. 

At  nine  o'clock  all  the  boats  had  shot  their  nets,  and 
Christie  went  alongside  his  lordship's  cutter ;  he  asked 
her  many  questions  about  herring  fishery,  to  which  she 
gave  clear  answers,  derived  from  her  father,  who  had 
always  been  what  the  fishermen  call  a  lucky  fisherman ; 
that  is,  he  had  opened  his  eyes  and  judged  for  himself. 

Lord  Ipsden  then  gave  her  blue  lights  to  distribute 
among  the  boats,  that  the  first  which  caught  herring 
might  signal  all  hands. 

This  was  done,  and  all  was  expectation. 

Eleven  o'clock  came  —  no  signal  fiom  any  boat. 


116  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

Christie  became  anxious ;  at  last  she  went  round  to 
the  boats  ;  found  the  boys  all  asleep,  except  the  baddish 
boy ;  waked  them  up,  and  made  them  all  haul  in  their 
first  net.  The  nets  came  in  as  black  as  ink,  no  sign  of  a 
herring. 

There  was  but  one  opinion  ;  there  was  no  herring  at 
Inch  Keith;  they  had  not  been  there  this  seven  years. 

At  last,  Flucker,  to  whom  she  came  in  turn,  told  her 
he  was  going  into  two  fathom  water,  where  he  would  let 
out  the  bladders  and  drop  the  nets  on  their  cursed  backs. 

A  strong  remonstrance  was  made  by  Christie,  but  the 
baddish  boy  insisted  that  he  had  an  equal  right  in  all 
her  nets,  and  setting  his  sail,  he  ran  into  shoal  water. 

Christie  began  to  be  sorrowful :  instead  of  making 
money  she  was  going  to  throw  it  away,  and  the  ne'er-do- 
weel  Flucker  would  tear  six  nets  from  the  ropes. 

Flucker  hauled  down  his  sail,  and  unstopped  his  mast 
in  two  fathom  water ;  but  he  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to 
risk  his  six  nets  ;  he  devoted  one  to  his  experiment,  and 
did  it  well ;  he  let  out  his  bladder  line  a  fathom,  so  that 
one-half  his  net  Avould  literally  be  higgledy-piggledy 
with  the  rocks,  unless  the  fish  were  there  en  masse. 

No  long  time  was  required. 

In  five  minutes  he  began  to  haul  in  the  net ;  first,  the 
boys  hauled  in  the  rope,  and  then  the  net  began  to 
approach  the  surface.  Flucker  looked  anxiously  down, 
the  other  lads  incredulously ;  suddenly  they  all  gave  a 
yell  of  triumph  —  an  appearance  of  silver  and  lightning 
mixed,  had  glanced  up  from  the  bottom ;  in  came  the 
first  two  yards  of  the  net  —  there  were  three  herrings  in 
it.  These  three  proved  Flucker's  point  as  well  as  three 
million. 

They  hauled  in  the  net.  Before  they  had  a  quarter 
of  it  in,  the  net  came  up  to  the  surface,  and  the  sea  was 
alive  with  molten  silver.     The  upper  half  of  the  net 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  117 

was  empty,  but  the  lower  half  was  one  solid  mass  of 
fish. 

The  boys  could  not  find  a  mesh ;  they  had  nothing  to 
handle  but  fish. 

At  this  moment  the  easternmost  boat  showed  a  blue 
light. 

"  The  fish  are  rising,"  said  Flucker,  "  we'll  na  risk  nae 
mair  nets." 

Soon  after  this  a  sort  of  song  was  heard  from  the 
boat  that  had  showed  a  light.  Flucker,  who  had  got  his 
net  in,  ran  down  to  her,  and  found,  as  he  suspected,  that 
the  boys  had  not  power  to  draw  the  weight  of  fish  over 
the  gunwale. 

They  were  singing,  as  sailors  do,  that  they  might  all 
pull  together ;  he  gave  them  two  of  his  crew,  and  ran 
down  to  his  own  skipper. 

The  said  skipper  gave  him  four  men. 

Another  blue  light  I 

Christie  and  her  crew  came  a  little  nearer  the  boats, 
and  shot  twelve  nets. 

The  yachtsmen  entered  the  sport  with  zeal,  so  did  his 
lordship. 

The  boats  were  all  full  in  a  few  minutes,  and  nets 
still  out. 

Then  Flucker  began  to  fear  some  of  these  nets  would 
sink  with  the  weight  of  fish ;  for  the  herring  die  after 
awhile  in  a  net,  and  a  dead  herring  sinks. 

What  was  to  be  done  ? 

They  got  two  boats  alongside  the  cutter,  and  unloaded 
them  into  her,  as  well  as  they  could ;  but  before  they 
could  half  do  this,  the  other  boats  hailed  them. 

They  came  to  one  of  them  ;  the  boys  were  struggling 
with  a  thing  which  no  stranger  would  have  dreamed  was 
a  net. 

Imagine  a  white  sheet,  fifty  feet  long,  varnished  with 


118  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

red-liot  silver ;  tliere  were  twenty  barrels  in  this  single 
net.  By  dint  of  fresh  hands  they  got  half  of  her  in, 
and  then  the  meshes  began  to  break ;  the  men  leaned 
over  the  gunsvale,  and  put  their  arms  round  blocks  and 
masses  of  fish,  and  so  flung  them  on  board ;  and  the 
cod-fish  and  dog-fisli  snapped  them  almost  out  of  the 
men's  hands,  like  tigers. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  net,  which  was  a  double  wall 
of  herring ;  it  had  been  some  time  in  the  water,  and 
many  of  the  fish  were  dead ;  they  tried  their  best,  but 
it  was  impracticable ;  they  laid  hold  of  the  solid  herring, 
and  when  they  lifted  up  a  hundred-weight  clear  of  the 
water,  away  it  all  tore,  and  sank  back  again. 

They  were  obliged  to  cut  away  this  net,  with  twenty 
pounds  sterling  in  her.  They  cut  away  the  twine  from 
the  head-ropes,  and  net  and  fish  went  to  the  bottom. 

All  hands  were  now  about  the  cutter;  Christie's  nets 
were  all  strong  and  ncAv.  They  had  been  some  time  in 
the  water;  in  hauling  them  up  her  side,  quantities  of 
fish  fell  out  of  the  net  into  the  water,  but  there  were 
enough  left. 

She  averaged  twelve  barrels  a  net. 

Such  of  the  yawls  as  were  not  quite  full,  crept  between 
the  cutter  and  the  nets,  and  caught  all  they  wanted. 

The  projector  of  this  fortunate  speculation  suddenly 
announced  that  she  was  very  sleepy. 

Flucker  rolled  her  up  in  a  sail,  and  she  slept  the  sleep 
of  infancy  on  board  her  cutter. 

When  she  awoke  it  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  her  cutter  was  creeping  with  a  smart  breeze,  about 
two  miles  an  hour,  a  mile  from  Xewhaven  pier. 

The  yacht  had  returned  to  Granton,  and  the  yawls, 
very  low  in  the  water,  were  creeping  along  like  snails, 
with  both  sails  set. 

The  news  was  in  Edinburgh  long  before  they  landed. 


CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE.  119 

They  had  been  discerned  under  Inch  Keith  at  the 
dawn. 

And  the  manner  of  their  creeping  along,  when  there 
was  such  a  breeze,  told  the  tale  at  once  to  the  keen, 
experienced  eyes  that  are  sure  to  be  scanning  the  sea. 

Donkey  carts  came  rattling  down  from  the  capital. 

Merchants  came  pelting  down  to  Newhaven  pier. 

The  whole  story  began  to  be  put  together  by  bits,  and 
comprehended. 

Old  Johnstone's  cleverness  was  recalled  to  mind. 

The  few  fishermen  left  at  Newhaven  were  ready  to 
kill  themselves. 

Their  wives  were  ready  to  do  the  same  good  office  for 
La  Johnstone. 

Four  Irish  merchants  agreed  to  work  together,  and  to 
make  a  show  of  competition,  the  better  to  keep  the  price 
down  within  bounds. 

It  was  hardly  fair,  four  men  against  one  innocent 
unguarded  female. 

But  this  is  a  wicked  world. 

Christie  landed,  and  proceeded  to  her  own  house  ;  on 
the  way  she  was  met  by  Jean  Carnie,  who  debarrassed 
her  of  certain  wrappers,  and  a  handkerchief  she  had 
tied  round  her  head,  and  informed  her  she  was  the  pride 
of  Newhaven. 

She  nexl;  met  these  four  little  merchants,  one  after 
another. 

And  since  we  ought  to  dwell  as  little  as  possible  upon 
scenes  in  which  unguarded  innocence  is  exposed  to  art- 
ful conspiracies,  we  will  put  a  page  or  two  into  the  brute 
form  of  dramatic  dialogue,  and  so  sail  through  it  quicker. 

First  Merchant.     Where  are  ye  going,  Meggie  ? 

Christie  Johnstone.  If  onybody  asks  ye,  say  ye  dinna 
ken. 

First  Merchant.     Will  ye  sell  your  fish  ? 


120  CHRISTIIC   JOHNSTONE. 

Christie.     Sunor  than  j^ie  them. 

First  Merchant.  Vou  will  be  asking  fifteen  shillin' 
the  cran. 

Christie.     And  ten  to  that. 

First  Merchant.     Good-morning. 

Second  Merchant.  Would  he  not  go  over  fifteen  shil- 
lings ?     Oh,  the  thief  o'  the  world  !     I'll  give  sixteen. 

Third  Merchant.     But  I'll  give  eighteen. 

Second  Merchant.  More  fool  you !  Take  him  up,  my 
girl. 

Christie.     Twenty -five  is  my  price  the  day. 

'Third  Mercha7it.  You  will  keep  them  till  Sunday 
wtH'k,  and  sell  their  bones. 

[Exeunt  the  three  Merchants. 

Filter  Fourth  Merchant. 

Fourth  Merchant.  Are  your  fish  sold?  I'll  give  six- 
teen shillings. 

Christie.  I'm  seeking  twenty-five,  an'  I'm  offered 
eighteen. 

Fourth  Merchant.     Take  it.  \^Exit. 

Christie.     They  hae  putten  their  heads  thegither. 

Here  Flucker  came  up  to  her,  and  told  her  there  was 
a  Leith  merchant  looking  for  her.  "  And  Custy,"  said 
he,  "there's  plenty  wind  getting  up,  your  fish  will  be 
sair  hashed ;  put  them  off  your  hands,  I  rede  ye." 

Christie.  Ay,  lad  I  Flucker,  hide,  an'  when  I  play 
my  hand  sae,  ye'll  run  in  an'  cry,  "  Cirsty,  the  Irishman 
will  gie  ye  twenty-two  schelliu'  the  cran." 

Flucker.  Ye  ken  mair  than's  in  the  catecheesm,  for 
as  releegious  as  ye  are. 

The  Leith  merchant  was  Mr.  Miller,  and  this  is  the 
way  he  worked. 

Miller  (in  a  mellifluous  voice).  Are  ye  no  fatigued, 
my  deear  ? 


CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE.  121 

Christie  (affecting  fatigue).     Indeed,  sir,  and  I  am. 

Miller.     Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  to  deal  wi'  ye  ? 

Christie.  If  it's  your  pleasure,  sir.  I'm  seekin'  twenty- 
five  schellin'. 

Miller  (pretending  not  to  hear).  As  j'^ou  are  a  beginner, 
I  must  offer  fair;  twenty  schellin'  you  shall  have,  and 
that's  three  shillings  above  Dunbar. 

Christie.  Wad  ye  even  carted  herriu'  with  my  fish 
caller  fra  the  sea  ?  and  Dunbar  —  oh  line  I  ye  ken  there's 
nae  herrin'  at  Dunbar  the  morn  ;  this  is  the  Dunbar  schule 
that  slipped  westward :  I'm  the  mairket,  ye'll  hae  to  buy 
o'  me  or  gang  to  your  bed —  (Here  she  signalled  to 
riucker).     I'll  no  be  oot  o'  mine  lang. 

Enter  Flucker  hastily  crying :  "  Cirsty,  the  Irishman 
will  gie  ye  twenty-two  schellin'." 

"  I'll  no  tak  it,"  said  Christie. 

"They  are  keen  to  hae  them,"  said  Flucker;  and 
hastily  retired,  as  if  to  treat  further  with  the  small 
merchants. 

On  this  Mr.  Miller,  pretending  to  make  for  Leith,  said 
carelessly,  "  Twenty-three  shillings,  or  they  are  not  for 
me." 

"  Tak  the  cutter's  freight  at  a  hundre'  cran,  an'  I'm  no 
caring,"  said  Christie. 

"  They  are  mine  I "  said  Mr.  Miller,  very  sharply. 
"  How  much  shall  I  give  you  the  day  ? " 

"  Auchty  pund,  sir,  if  you  please  —  the  lave  when  you 
like ;  I  ken  ye,  Mr.  Miller." 

Whilst  counting  her  the  notes,  the  purchaser  said  slyly 
to  her : — 

"  There's  more  than  a  hundred  cran  in  the  cutter,  my 
woman." 

"  A  little,  sir,"  replied  the  vender ;  "  but  ere  I  could 
count  them  till  ye  by  baskets,  they  would  lose  seven  or 
eight  cran  in  book,^  your  gain  my  loss." 


122  CHRISTIE   .lOHNSTONE. 

''You  are  a  vara  intelligent  young  person,"  said  Mr. 
IMiller,  gravely. 

"Ye  had  measured  them  wi'  your  walking-stick,  sir; 
tliere's  just  ae  scale  ye  didna  wipe  off,  though  ye  are  a 
carefu'  mon,  Mr.  IMillcr;  sae  I  laid  the  bait  for  ye  an' 
iine  ye  took  it." 

Miller  took  out  his  snuff-box,  and  tapping  it,  said : 

*'  Will  ye  go  into  partnership  with  me,  my  dear  ?  " 

"Ay,  sir  I''  was  the  reply.  "When  I'm  aulder  an* 
ye're  younger." 

At  this  moment  the  four  merchants,  believing  it  use- 
less to  disguise  their  co-operation,  returned  to  see  what 
could  be  done. 

"We  shall  give  you  a  guinea  a  barrel." 

"  Why,  ye  offered  her  twenty-two  shillings  before." 

"That  we  never  did,  Mr.  Miller." 

"Haw,  haAv  !"  went  Flucker. 

Christie  looked  down  and  blushed. 

Eyes  met  eyes,  and  without  a  word  spoken  all  was 
comprehended  and  silently  approved.  There  was  no  non- 
sense uttered  about  morality  in  connection  with  dealing. 

Mr.  Miller  took  an  enormous  pinch  of  snuff,  and  drew 
for  the  benefit  of  all  present  the  following  inference : 

MR.    miller's    apophthegm. 

"  Friends  and  neighbors !  when  a  man's  heed  is  gray 
with  age  and  thoucht  (pause)  —  he's  just  fit  to  go  to 
schule  to  a  young  lass  o'  twenty." 

There  was  a  certain  middle-aged  fishwife,  called  Beeny 
Liston,  a  tenant  of  Christie  Johnstone's;  she  had  not 
paid  her  rent  for  some  time,  and  she  had  not  been 
pressed  for  it ;  whether  this,  or  the  whiskey  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  taking,  rankled  in  her  mind,  certain  it  is 
she  had  always  an  ill  word  for  her  landlady. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  123 

She  now  met  her,  envied  her  success,  and  called  out  in 
a  coarse  tone,  — 

"Oh,  ye're  a  gallant  quean;  ye'll  be  waur  than  ever 
the  noo." 

"  What's  wrang,  if  ye  please  ?  "  said  the  Johnstone, 
sharply. 

Eeader,  did  you  ever  see  two  fallow  bucks  commence 
a  duel  ? 

They  strut  round,  eight  yards  apart,  tails  up,  look 
carefully  another  way  to  make  the  other  think  it  all 
means  nothing,  and  being  both  equally  sly,  their  horns 
come  together  as  if  by  concert. 

Even  so  commenced  this  duel  of  tongues  between 
these  two  heroines. 

Beeny  Liston,  looking  at  everj'bod}"  but  Christie,  ad- 
dressed the  natives  who  were  congregating,  thus :  — 

"  Did  ever  ye  hear  o'  a  decent  lass  taking  the  herrin' 
oot  o'  the  men's  mooths  —  is  yon  a  woman's  pairt,  I'm 
asking  ye  ?  " 

On  this,  Christie,  looking  carefully  at  all  the  others 
except  Beeny,  inquired  with  an  air  of  simple  curiosity  : 

"  Can  onybody  tell  me  wha  Liston  Carnie's  drunken 
wife  is  speaking  till  ?  no  to  ony  decent  lass,  though. 
Na!  ye  ken  she  wad  na  hae  th'  impudence  !" 

"Oh,  ye  ken  fine  I'm  speaking  till  yoursel'.". 

Here  the  horns  clashed  together. 

"  To  mCj  woman  ?  (With  admirably  acted  surprise.) 
Oo,  ay !  it  will  be  for  the  twa  years'  rent  you're  awin 
me.     Giest  t " 

Beeny  Liston.  Ye're  just  the  impudentest  girrl  i'  the 
toon,  an'  ye  hae  proved  it  the  day  (her  arms  akimbo). 

Christie  (arms  akimbo).  Me,  impiident  ?  how  daur  ye 
speak  against  my  charuckter,  that's  kenned  for  decency 
o'  baith  sides  the  Firrth  ? 

Beeny  (contemptuously).  Oh,  ye're  sly  enough  to 
beguile  the  men,  but  we  ken  ye. 


124  CHRISTIE   .JOHNSTONE. 

Christie.  I'm  no  sly  —  and  (drawing  near  and  hissing 
the  words)  I'm  no  like  the  woman  Jean  an'  1  saw  in 
Kose  Street,  dead  drunk  on  the  causeway,  while  her  mon 
was  working  for  her  at  sea.  If  ye're  no  ben  your  hoose 
in  ae  minute,  I'll  say  that  will  gar  Liston  Carnie  Hing 
ye  ower  the  pier-head,  ye  fool-moothed  drunken  leear  — 
Scairt !  > 

If  my  reader  has  seen  and  heard  Mademoiselle  Rachel 
utter  her  famous  Sortez  in  "Virginie,"  he  knows  exactly 
with  what  a  gesture  and  tone  the  Johnstone  uttered  this 
word. 

Beeny  (in  a  voice  of  whining  surprise).  Hecli !  what 
a  spite  Flueker  Johnstone's  dochter  has  taen  against  us. 

Christie.     Scairt  I 

Beeny  (in  a  coaxing  voice,  and  moving  a  step).  Aweel ! 
what's  a'  your  paession,  my  boenny  woman  ? 

Christie.     Scairt ! 

Beeny  retired  before  the  thunder  and  lightning  of 
indignant  virtue. 

Then  all  the  fishboys  struck  up  a  dismal  chant  of 
victory. 

"  Yoo-hoo  —  Gusty 's  won  the  day  —  Beeny's  scair-<iV  " 
(going  up  on  the  last  syllable). 

Christie  moved  slowly  away  towards  her  own  house, 
but  before  she  could  reach  the  door  she  began  to  whimper 
• — little  fool. 

Thereat  chorus  of  young  Athenians  chanted : 

"  Yu-hoo !  come  back,  Beeny,  ye'll  maybe  win  yet. 
Custy's  away  gree-^m  "  (going  up  on  the  last  syllable). 

"I'm  no  greetin,  ye  rude  bairns,"  said  Christie,  burst- 
ing into  tears,  and  retiring  as  soon  as  she  had  effected 
that  proof  of  her  philosophy. 

It  was  about  four  hours  later ;  Christie  had  snatched 
some  repose.     The  wind,  as  Flueker  prognosticated,  had 

^  A  local  word;  a  corruption  from  ttie  French  Sortez. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  125 

grown  to  a  very  heavy  gale,  and  the  Firth  was  brown 
and  boiling. 

Suddenly  a  clamor  was  heard  on  the  shore,  and  soon 
after  a  fishwife  made  her  appearance,  with  rather  a 
singular  burden. 

Her  husband,  ladies  ;  rien  que  cela. 

She  had  him  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck ;  he  was  dos-a- 
dos,  with  his  booted  legs  kicking  in  the  air,  and  his  fists 
making  warlike  but  idle  demonstrations,  and  his  mouth 
uttering  ineffectual  bad  language. 

This  worthy  had  been  called  a  coward  by  Sandy  Liston, 
and  being  about  to  fight  with  him,  and  get  thrashed,  his 
wife  had  whipped  him  up,  and  carried  him  away  ;  she 
now  flung  him  down,  at  some  risk  to  his  equilibrium. 

"  Ye  are  not  fit  to  feicht  wi'  Sandy  Liston,"  said  she ; 
"  if  ye  are  for  feichtin,  here's  for  ye." 

As  a  comment-  to  this  proposal,  she  tucked  up  the 
sleeves  of  her  short  gown.  He  tried  to  run  by  her ;  she 
caught  him  by  the  bosom,  and  gave  him  a  violent  push, 
that  sent  him  several  paces  backwards ;  he  looked  half 
fierce,  half  astounded ;  ere  he  could  quite  recover  him- 
self, his  little  servant  forced  a  pipe  into  his  hand,  and 
he  smoked  contented  and  peaceable. 

Before  tobacco  the  evil  passions  fall,  they  tell  me. 

The  cause  of  this  quarrel  soon  explained  itself;  up 
came  Sandy  Liston,  cursing  and  swearing. 

"■  What !  ye  hae  gotten  till  your  wife's,  that's  the  place 
for  ye ;  to  say  there's  a  brig  in  distress,  and  ye'll  let  her 
go  on  the  rocks  under  your  noses  ;  but  what  are  ye  afraid 
o'  ?  there's  na  danger." 

"  Nae  danger ! "  said  one  of  the  reproached,  "  are  ye 
fou  ?  " 

"  Ye  are  fou  wi'  fear  yoursel' ;  of  a'  the  beasts  that 
crawl  the  airth,  a  cooward  is  the  ugliest,  I  think." 

"  The  wif es  will  no  let  us,"  said  one,  sulkily. 


i26  CHRrSTIK  .TOHNSTONE. 

"It's  the  woman  in  your  hairts  that  keeps  ye,"  roared 
Sandy,  hoarsely.     "  Curse  ye,  ye  are  sure  to  dee  ane  day, 

and  ye  are  sure  to  be !  (a  past  participle)  soon  or 

late,  what  signifies  when  ?  Oh  !  curse  the  hour  ever  I 
was  born  amang  sic  a  cooardl}'  crew."     (Gun  at  sea.) 

"  There  I " 

"  She  speaks  till  ye,  hersel' ;  she  cries  for  mairey ;  to 
think  of  a'  that  hear  ye  cry,  Alexander  Liston  is  the  only 
nion  mon  enough  to  answer."     (Gun.) 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Alexander  Liston,"  said  a 
clear,  smart  voice,  whose  owner  had  mingled  unobserved 
with  the  throng;  "there  are  always  mon  to  answer  such 
occasions.  Xow,  my  lads,  your  boats  have  plenty  of 
ijeam,  and  well  handled,  should  live  in  any  sea;  who 
volunteers  with  Alexander  Liston  and  me  ?  " 

The  si)eaker  was  Lord  Ipsden. 

The  fishwives  of  Xewhaven,  more  accustomed  to  meas- 
ure men  than  poor  little  Lady  Barbara  Sinclair,  saw  in 
this  man  what,  in  point  of  fact  he  was,  a  cool  daring 
devil,  than  whom  none  more  likely  to  lead  men  into 
mortal  danger,  or  pull  them  through  it,  for  that  mat- 
ter. 

They  recognized  their  natural  enemy,  and  collected 
together  against  him,  like  hens  at  the  sight  of  a 
hawk. 

"And  would  you  really  entice  our  men  till  their 
death  ?  " 

"  My  life's  worth  as  much  as  theirs,  I  suppose." 

"'  Xae  I  your  life  !  it's  na  worth  a  button ;  when  you 
dee  your  next  kin  will  dance,  and  wha'll  greet  ?  but  our 
men  hae  wife  and  bairns  to  look  till."     (Gun  at  sea.) 

"Ah  I  I  didn't  look  at  it  in  that  light,"  said  Lord 
Ipsden.  He  then  demanded  paper  and  ink.  Christie 
Johnstone,  who  had  come  out  of  her  house,  supplied  it 
from  her  treasures,  and  this  cool  hand  actually  began  to 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  127 

convey  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  away,  upon 
a  sheet  of  paper  blowing  in  the  wind;  when  he  had 
named  his  residuary  legatee,  and  disposed  of  certain 
large  bequests,  he  came  to  the  point  — 

"  Christie  Johnstone,  what  can  these  people  live  on  ? 
two  hundred  a  year  ?  Living  is  cheap  here  —  confound 
the  wind ! " 

''  Twa  hundred  ?     Fifty  !  Vile  Count."' 

"Don't  call  me  Vile  Count.  I  am  Ipsden,  and  my 
name's  Richard.  Now,  then,  be  smart  with  your 
names." 

Three  men  stepped  forward,  gave  their  names,  had 
their  widows  provided  for,  and  went  for  their  sou'- 
westers,  etc. 

"  Stay,"  said  Lord  Ipsden,  writing.  "  To  Christina 
Johnstone,  out  of  respect  for  her  character,  one  thou- 
sand pounds." 

"Richard,  dinna'^^gang,"  cried  Christie,  "oh!  dinna 
gang,  dinna  gang,  dinna  gang ;  it's  no  3-our  business." 

"Will  you  lend  me  your  papa's  Flushing  jacket  and 
sou'wester,  my  dear  ?  If  I  was  sure  to  be  drowned,  I'd 
go." 

Christie  ran  in  for  them. 

In  the  mean  time,  discomposed  by  the  wind,  and  by 
feelings  whose  existence  neither  he  nor  I  nor  any  one 
suspected,  Saunders,  after  a  sore  struggle  between  the 
frail  man  and  the  perfect  domestic,  blurted  out,  — 

"  My  lord,  I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon,  but  it  blows 
tempestuous." 

"  That  is  why  the  brig  wants  us,"  was  the  reply. 

"  My  lord,  I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon,"  whimpered 
Saunders.  "  But  oh !  my  lord,  don't  go  ;  it's  all  very 
well  for  fishermen  to  be  drowned ;  it  is  their  business, 
but  not  yours,  my  lord." 

"  Saunders,  help  me  on  with  this  coat." 


128  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

Christie  had  brought  it. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Saunders,  briskly,  his  second 
nature  reviving. 

His  lordship,  whilst  putting  on  the  coat  and  hat,  under- 
took to  cool  Mr.  Saunders's  aristocratic  prejudices. 

"Should  Alexander  Liston  and  I  be  drowned,"  said 
he,  coolly,  "when  our  bones  come  ashore,  you  will  not 
know  which  are  the  fisherman's  and  which  the  vis- 
count's."    So  saying,  he  joined  the  enterprise. 

"  I  shall  pray  for  ye,  lad,"  said  Christie  Johnstone,  and 
she  retired  for  that  purpose. 

Saunders,  with  a  heavy  heart,  to  the  nearest  tavern,  to 
prepare  an  account  of  what  he  called  "  Heroism  in  High 
Life,"  large  letters,  and  the  usual  signs  of  great  aston- 
ishment! !  !  !  !  !  for  the  "Polytechnic  Magazine." 

The  commander  of  the  distressed  vessel  had  been 
penny-wise.  He  had  declined  a  pilot  off  the  Isle  of 
Ma}',  trusting  to  fall  in  with  one  1?lose  to  the  port  of 
Leith;  but  a  heavy  gale  and  fog  had  come  on;  he  knew 
himself  in  the  vicinity  of  dangerous  rocks ;  and,  to  make 
matters  worse,  his  ship,  old  and  sore  battered  by  a  long 
and  stormy  voyage,  was  leaky ;  and  unless  a  pilot  came 
alongside,  his  fate  would  be,  either  to  founder,  or  run 
upon  the  rocks,  where  he  must  expect  to  go  to  pieces  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  Newhaven  boat  lay  in  comparatively  smooth  water, 
on  the  lee  side  of  the  pier. 

Our  adventurers  got  into  her,  stepped  the  mast,  set  a 
small  sail,  and  ran  out.  Sandy  Liston  held  the  sheet, 
passed  once  round  the  belaying-pin,  and  whenever  a 
larger  wave  than  usual  came  at  them,  he  slacked  the 
sheet,  and  the  boat  losing  her  way,  rose  gently,  like  a 
cork,  upon  seas  that  had  seemed  about  to  swallow  her. 

But  seen  from  the  shore  it  was  enough  to  make  the 
most  experienced  wince ;  so  completely  was  this  wooden 


CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE.  129 

shell  lost  to  sight,  as  she  descended  from  a  wave,  that 
each  time  her  reappearance  seemed  a  return  from  the 
dead. 

The  weather  was  misty  ;  the  boat  was  soon  lost  sight 
of :  the  story  remains  ashore. 


Vol.  9—11 


130  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

It  was  an  hour  later ;  the  natives  of  the  New  Town 
had  left  the  pier,  and  were  about  their  own  doors,  when 
three  Buckhaven  fishermen  came  slowly  up  from  the 
pier;  these  men  had  arrived  in  one  of  their  large  fishing- 
boats  which  defy  all  weather. 

The  men  came  slowly  up ;  their  petticoat  trousers  were 
drenched,  and  their  neck-handkerchiefs  and  hair  were 
wet  with  spray. 

At  the  foot  of  the  New  Town  they  stood  still  and 
whispered  to  each  other. 

There  was  something  about  these  men  that  drew  the 
eye  of  Newhaven  upon  them. 

In  the  first  place,  a  Buckhaven  man  rarely  communi- 
cates with  natives  of  Newhaven,  except  at  the  pier, 
where  he  brings  in  his  cod  and  ling  from  the  deep  sea; 
flings  them  out  like  stones,  and  sells  them  to  the  fish- 
wives ;  then  up  sail  and  away  for  Fifeshire. 

But  these  men  evidently  came  ashore  to  speak  to  some 
one  in  the  town. 

They  whispered  together;  something  appeared  to  be 
proposed  and  demurred  to ;  but  at  last  two  went  slowly 
back  towards  the  pier,  and  the  eldest  remained,  with  a 
fisherman's  long  mackintosh  coat  in  his  hand,  which  the 
others  had  given  him  as  they  left  him. 

With  this  in  his  hand,  the  Buckhaven  fisherman  stood 
in  an  irresolute  posture  ;  he  looked  down,  and  seemed  to 
ask  himself  what  course  he  should  take. 

"  What's  wrang  ? "  said  Jean  Carnie,  who,  with  her 
neighbors,  had  observed  the  men.  "I  wish  yon  man 
may  na  hae  ill  news." 


CHRISTIE  JOHKSTONE*  131 

"  What  ill  news  wad  he  hae  ?  "  replied  another. 

"  Are  ony  freends  of  Liston  Carnie  here  ?  "  said  the 
fisherman. 

"  The  wife's  awa'  to  Granton,  Beeny  Liston  they  ca' 
her  —  there's  his  house,"  added  Jean,  pointing  up  the  row. 

"Ay,"  said  the  fisherman,  "I  ken  he  lived  there." 

"  Lived  there  ! "  cried  Christie  Johnstone ;  "  oh  !  what's 
this  ?  " 

"■  Freends,"  said  the  man,  gravely,  "  his  boat  is  driving 
keel  uppermost  in  Kircauldy  Bay ;  we  passed  her  near 
enough  to  read  the  name  upon  her." 

"  But  the  men  will  have  won  to  shore,  please  God  ?  " 

The  fisherman  shook  his  head. 

"She'll  hae  coupit  a  mile  wast  Inch  Keith,  an'  the 
tide  rinning  aff  the  island  an'  a  heavy  sea  gaun.  This  is 
a'  Newhaven  we'll  see  of  them  (holding  up  the  coat) 
till  they  rise  to  the  top  in  three  weeks'  time." 

The  man  then  took  the  coat,  which  was  now  seen  to 
be  drenched  with  water,  and  hung  it  up  on  a  line  not 
very  far  from  its  imfortunate  owner's  house ;  then,  in  the 
same  grave  and  subdued  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  all 
along,  he  said,  "  We  are  sorry  to  bring  siccan  a  tale  into 
your  toon,"  and  slowly  moved  oif  to  rejoin  his  comrades, 
who  had  waited  for  him  at  no  great  distance.  They  then 
passed  through  the  Old  Town,  and  in  five  minutes  the 
calamity  was  known  to  the  whole  place. 

After  the  first  stupor,  the  people  in  the  New  Town 
collected  into  knots,  and  lamented  their  hazardous  call- 
ing, and  feared  for  the  lives  of  those  that  had  just  put  to 
sea  in  this  fatal  gale  for  the  rescue  of  strangers,  and  the 
older  ones  failed  not  to  match  this  present  sorrow  with 
others  within  their  recollection. 

In  the  middle  of  this,  Flucker  Johnstone  came  hastily 
in  from  the  Old  Town,  and  told  them  he  had  seen  the 
wife,  Beeny  Liston,  coming  through  from  Granton. 


132  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

The  sympathy  of  all  was  instantly  turned  In  tliis 
direction. 

"  She  would  hear  the  news." 

"  It  would  fall  on  her  like  a  thunder-clap." 

"  What  would  become  of  her  ?  " 

Every  eye  was  strained  towards  the  Old  Town,  and 
soon  the  poor  woman  was  seen  about  to  enievge  from  it; 
but  she  was  walking  in  her  usual  way,  and  they  felt  she 
could  not  carry  her  person  so  if  she  knew. 

At  the  last  house  she  was  seen  to  stop  and  speak  to  a 
fisherman  and  his  wife  that  stood  at  their  own  door. 

"  They  are  telling  her,"  was  then  the  cry. 

Beeuy  Liston  then  proceeded  on  her  way. 

Every  eye  was  strained. 

No,  they  had  not  told  her. 

She  came  gayly  on,  the  unconscious  object  of  every 
eye  and  every  heart. 

The  hands  of  this  people  were  hard,  and  their  tongues 
rude,  but  they  had  shrunk  from  telling  this  poor  woman 
of  her  bereavement ;  they  thought  it  kinder  she  should 
know  it  under  her  own  roof  from  her  friends  or  neigh- 
bors, than  from  comparative  strangers. 

She  drew  near  her  own  door. 

And  now  a  knot  collected  round  Christie  Johnstone, 
and  urged  her  to  undertake  the  sad  task. 

"You  that  speak  sa  learned,  Christie,  ye  should  tell 
her ;  we  daur  na." 

"  How  can  I  tell  her  ?  "  said  Christie,  turning  pale. 
"  How  will  I  tell  her  ?     Ise  try." 

She  took  one  trembling  step  to  meet  the  woman. 

Beeny's  eye  fell  upon  her. 

"  Ay !  here's  the  Queen  o'  Newhaven,"  cried  she,  in  a 
loud  and  rather  coarse  voice.  "The  men  will  hae  ta 
leave  the  place  now  y'are  turned  fisherman,  I  daur  say." 

"  Oh,  dinna  fleicht  on  me  !  dinna  fleicht  on  me  ! "  cried 
Christie,  trembling. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  133 

"  Maircy  on  us,"  said  the  other,  '•'  auld  Flucker  John- 
stone's dochter  turned  humble.     What  next  ?  " 

"I'm  vexed  for  speaking  back  till  ye  the  morn," 
faltered  Christie. 

"  Hett,"  said  the  woman,  carelessly,  "  let  yon  flea  stick 
i'  the  wa'.  I  fancy  I  began  on  ye.  Aweel,  Cirsty,"  said 
she,  falling  into  a  friendlier  tone,  "  it's  the  place  we  live 
in  spoils  us  ;  Newhaven's  an  impudent  toon,  as  sure  as 
deeth. 

"  I  passed  through  the  Auld  Toon  the  noo,  a  place  I 
never  speak  in ;  an'  if  they  did  na  glower  at  me  as  I  had 
been  a  strange  beast. 

"  They  cam'  to  their  very  doors  to  glower  at  me ;  if 
ye'll  believe  me,  I  thoucht  shame. 

"  At  the  hinder  end  my  paassion  got  up,  and  I  faced  a 
wife  East-by,  and  I  said,  'What  gars  ye  glower  at  me 
that  way,  ye  ignorant  woman  ? '  Ye  would  na  think  it, 
she  answered  like  honey  itsel'  — '  I'm  askin'  your  paar- 
don,'  says  she  ;  and  her  mon  by  her  side  said,  '  Gang 
hame  to  your  ain  hoose,  my  woman,  and  Gude  help  ye, 
and  help  us  a'  at  our  need,'  the  decent  mon.  '  It's  just 
there  I'm  for,'  said  I,  'to  get  my  mon  his  breakfast.' " 

All  who  heard  her  drew  their  breath  with  difficulty. 

The  woman  then  made  for  her  own  house,  but  in  going 
up  the  street  she  passed  the  wet  coat  hanging  on  the 
line. 

She  stopped  directly. 

They  all  trembled  —  they  had  forgotten  the  coat  —  it 
was  all  over ;  the  coat  would  tell  the  tale. 

"  Aweel,"  said  she,  "  I  could  sweer  that's  Liston 
Carnie's  coat,  a  droiikit  wi'  the  rain ; "  then  she  looked 
again  at  it,  and  added,  slowly,  "if  I  did  na  ken  he  has 
his  away  wi'  him  at  the  piloting."  And  in  another 
moment  she  was  in  her  own  house,  leaving  them  all 
standing  there  half  stupefied. 


134  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

Christie  had  indeed  endeavored  to  speak,  but  her 
tongue  had  cloven  to  her  mouth. 

Whilst  they  stood  looking  at  one  another,  and  at 
Beeny  Liston's  door,  a  voice  that  seemed  incredibly 
rough,  loud,  and  harsh,  jarred  upon  them ;  it  was  Sandy 
Liston,  who  came  in  from  Leith,  shouting,  — 

'^  Fifty  pounds  for  salvage,  lasses  !  is  na  thaat  better 
than  staying  cooard-like  aside  the  women  ?  " 

"Whisht !  whisht !"  cried  Christie.  "We  are  in  heavy 
sorrow ;  puir  Liston  Cairnie  and  his  son  Willy  lie  deed 
at  the  bottom  o'  the  Firrth." 

"  Gude  help  us  !  "  said  Sandy,  and  his  voice  sank. 

"  An',  0  Sandy  !  the  wife  does  na  ken,  and  it's  hairt- 
breaking  to  see  her  and  hear  her ;  we  canna  get  her 
tell't ;  ye're  the  auldest  mon  here  ;  ye'll  tell  her,  will  ye 
no,  Sandy  ?  " 

"  No,  me,  that  I  will  not ! " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  ye  are  kenned  for  your  stoot  heart  an' 
coorage ;  ye  come  fra'  facing  the  sea  an'  wind  in  a  bit 
yawl." 

"  The  sea  and  the  wind,"  cried  he,  contemptuously ; 

"  they  be ;  I'm  used  wi'  them  ;  but  to  look  a  woman 

i'  the  face,  an'  tell  her  her  mon  and  her  son  are  drowned 
since  yestreen,  I  hae  na  coorage  for  that." 

All  further  debate  was  cut  short  by  the  entrance  of  one 
Avho  came  expressly  to  discharge  the  sad  duty  all  had 
found  so  difficult.  It  was  the  Presbyterian  clergyman  of 
the  place  ;  he  waved  them  back.  "  I  know,  I  know,"  said 
he,  solemnly. 

"  Where  is  the  wife  ?  " 

She  came  out  of  her  house  at  this  moment,  as  it 
happened,  to  purchase  something  at  Drysale's  shop, 
which  was  opposite. 

"Beeny,"  said  the  clergyman,  "I  have  sorrowful 
tidings." 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  136 

"Tell  me  them,  sir,"'  said  she,  unmoved.  "Is  it  a 
deeth  ?  "  added  she,  quietly. 

"  It  is  !  —  death,  sudden  and  terrible  ;  in  your  own 
house  I  must  tell  it  you  (and  may  God  show  me  how 
to  break  it  to  her)." 

He  entered  her  house. 

"  Aweel,"  said  the  woman  to  the  others,  "  it  maun  be 
some  far  awa  cousin,  or  the  like  ;  for  Liston  an'  me  hae 
nae  near  freends.  Meg,  ye  idle  hizzy,"  screamed  she  to 
her  servant,  who  was  one  of  the  spectators,  "  your  pat  is 
no  on  yet ;  div  ye  think  the  men  will  no  be  hungry  when 
they  come  in  fra  the  sea  ?  " 

"They  will  never  hunger  nor  thirst  ony  mair,"  said 
Jean,  solemnly,  as  the  bereaved  woman  entered  her  own 
door. 

There  ensued  a  listless  and  fearful  silence. 

Every  moment  some  sign  of  bitter  sorrow  was  expected 
to  break  forth  from  the  house,  but  none  came  ;  and  amidst 
the  expectation  and  silence  the  waves  dashed  louder  and 
louder,  as  it  seemed,  against  the  dyke,  conscious  of  what 
they  had  done. 

At  last,  in  a  moment,  a  cry  of  agony  arose,  so  terrible 
that  all  who  heard  it  trembled,  and  more  than  one  woman 
shrieked  in  return,  and  fled  from  the  door ;  at  which,  the 
next  moment,  the  clergyman  stood  alone,  collected,  but 
pale,  and  beckoned.     Several  women  advanced. 

"  One  woman,"  said  he. 

Jean  Carnie  was  admitted,  and  after  awhile  returned. 

"  She  is  come  to  hersel',''  whispered  she  ;  "  I  am  no 
weel  mysel'."     And  she  passed  into  her  own  house. 

Then  Flucker  crept  to  the  door  to  see. 

"  Oh,  dinna  spie  on  her  ! "  cried  Christie. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Flucker,"  said  many  voices. 

"  He  is  kneelin',"  said  Flucker.  "  He  has  her  hand  to 
gar  her  kneel  tae,  —  she  winna,  —  she  does  na  see  him 


136  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

nor  hear  him ;  he  will  hae  her.  He  has  won  her  to 
kneel,  —  he  is  prayin'  an'  greetin'  aside  her.  I  canna  see 
noo  ;  my  een's  blinded." 

"  He's  a  gude  mon,"  said  Christie.  "  Oh,  what  wad  we 
do  without  the  ministers  ?  " 

Sandy  Listen  had  been  leaning  sorrowfully  against  the 
wall  of  the  next  house  ;  he  now  broke  out. 

"  An  auld  shipmate  at  the  whale  fishing  !  An'  noow 
we'll  never  lift  the  dredging  sang  thegither  again  in  yon 
dirty  detch  that's  droowned  him  ;  I  maun  hae  whiskey, 
an'  forget  it  a'." 

He  made  for  the  spirit-shop  like  a  madman,  but  ere  he 
could  reach  the  door  a  hand  was  laid  on  him  like  a  vise. 
Christie  Johnstone  had  literally  sj)rung  on  him.  She 
hated  this  horrible  vice,  —  had  often  checked  him  ;  and 
now  it  seemed  so  awful  a  moment  for  such  a  sin,  that 
she  forgot  the  wild  and  savage  nature  of  the  man,  who 
had  struck  his  own  sister,  and  seriously  hurt  her,  but  a 
month  before,  —  she  saw  nothing  but  the  vice  and  its 
victim,  and  she  seized  him  by  the  collar,  with  a  grasp 
from  which  he  in  vain  attempted  to  shake  himself 
loose. 

*'No  !  ye'll  no  gang  there  at  siccan  a  time." 

"  Hands  off,  ye  daft  jaud,"  roared  he,  "  or  there'll  be 
another  deeth  i'  the  toon." 

At  the  noise,  Jean  Carnie  ran  in. 

"  Let  the  ruffian  go  ! "  cried  she,  in  dismay.  "  0 
Christie  !    dinna  put  your  hand  on  a  lion's  mane." 

"  Yes,  I'll  put  my  hand  on  his  mane,  ere  I'll  let  him 
mak  a  beast  o'  himsel'." 

"  Sandy,  if  ye  hurt  her,  I'll  find  twenty  lads  that  will 
lay  ye  deed  at  her  feet." 

"  Hand  your  whisht,"  said  Christie,  very  sharply,  ''  he's 
no  to  be  threetened." 

Sandy  Liston,  black  and  white  with  rage,  ground  his 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  137 

teeth  together,  and  said,  lifting  his  hand,  "  Wull  ye  let 
me  go,  or  must  J  tak  my  hand  till  ye  ?  " 

"  No  ! "  said  Christie,  "  I'll  no  let  ye  go,  sae  look  me  i' 
the  face  ;  Flucker's  dochter,  your  auld  comrade,  that  saved 
your  life  at  Holy  Isle,  —  think  o'  his  face,  —  ari'  look  hi 
mines,  —  an'  strike  me  !  " 

They  glared  on  one  another,  —  he  fiercely  and  un- 
steadily ;  she  firmly  and  proudly. 

Jean  Carnie  said  afterwards,  "  her  eyes  were  like  coals 
of  fire." 

"  Ye  are  doing  what  nae  mon  i'  the  toon  daur  ;  ye  are 
a  bauld,  unwise  lassy." 

"  It's  you  mak  me  bauld,"  was  the  instant  reply.  "  I 
saw  ye  face  the  mad  sea  to  save  a  ship  fra  the  rocks,  an' 
will  I  fear  a  mon's  hand,  when  I  can  save  (rising  to 
double  her  height)  my  feyther's  auld  freend  fra  the 
puir  mon's  enemy,  the  enem}^  o'  mankind,  the  cursed, 
cursed  drink.  O  Sandy  Listen  !  hoow  could  ye  think  to 
put  an  enemy  in  your  mooth  to  steal  awa  your  brains  ! " 

"  This's  no  Newhaven  chat ;  wha  lairns  ye  sic  words  o' 
power  ?  " 

"A  deed  mon  !  " 

"  I  would  na  wonder,  y'are  no  canny  ;  she's  ta'en  a' 
the  poower  oot  o'  my  body,  I  think."  Then  suddenly 
descending  to  a  tone  of  abject  submission,  "  What's  your 
pleesure,  Flucker  Johnstone's  dochter  ?  " 

She  instantly  withdrew  the  offensive  grasp,  and  leaning 
affectionately  on  his  shoulder,  she  melted  into  her  rich 
Ionic  tones. 

"  It's  no  a  time  for  sin  :  ye'll  sit  by  my  fire,  an'  get 
your  dinner  ;  a  bonny  haggis  hae  I  for  you  an'  Flucker, 
an'  we'll  improve  this  sorrowfu'  judgment ;  an'  ye'll  tell 
me  o'  auld  times  ;  o'  my  feyther  dear,  that  likeit  ye  weel, 
Sandy,  —  o'  the  storrms  ye  hae  weathered  side  by  side, 
—  o'  the  muckle  whales  ye  killed  Greenland  way,  —  an' 


138  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

abune  a',  o'  the  lives  ye  hae  saved  at  sea  by  your  daurin 
an'  your  skell ;  an',  0  Sandy  !  will  na  that  be  better  as 
sit  an'  poor  leequid  damnation  doown  your  throat,  an'  gie 
awa  the  sense  an'  feeling  o'  a  men  for  a  sair  heed  and  an 
ill  name  ?  " 

"I'se  gang,  my  lamb,"  said  the  rough  man,  quite 
subdued ;  "  I  daur  say  whiskey  will  no  pass  my  teeth 
the  day." 

And  so  he  went  quietly  away,  and  sat  by  Christie's 
fireside. 

Jean  and  Christie  went  towards  the  boats. 

Jean,  after  taking  it  philosophically  for  half  a  minute, 
began  to  whimper. 

"  What's  wrang  ?  "  said  Christie. 

"I>iv  ye  think  my  hairt's  no  in  my  mooth  wi'  you 
gripping  yon  fierce  robber  ?  " 

Here  a  young  fishwife,  with  a  box  in  her  hand,  who 
had  followed  them,  pulled  Jean  by  the  coats. 

•'  Hets,"  said  Jean,  pulling  herself  free. 

The  child  then,  with  a  pertinacity  these  little  animals 
have,  pulled  Christie's  coats. 

"  Hets,"  said  Christie,  freeing  herself  more  gently. 

"  Ye  suld  mairry  Van  Amburgh,"  continued  Jean ;  "ye 
are  just  such  a  lass  as  he  is  a  lad." 

Christie  smiled  proudly,  was  silent,  but  did  not  disown 
the  comparison. 

The  little  fishwife,  unable  to  attract  attention  by  pull- 
ing, opened  her  box,  and  saying,  "  Lasses,  I'll  let  ye  see 
my  presoner :  hech  !  he's  boenny  ! "  pulled  out  a  mouse 
by  a  string  fastened  to  his  tail,  and  set  him  in  the  midst 
for  friendly  admiration. 

"  I  dinna  like  it,  I  dinna  like  it !  "  screamed  Christie. 
"  Jean,  put  it  away :  it  fears  me,  Jean  ! "  This  she 
uttered  (her  eyes  almost  starting  from  her  head  with 
unaffected  terror)  at  the  distance  of  about  eight  yards, 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  139 

whither  she  had  arrived  in  two  bounds  that  would  have 
done  no  discredit  to  an  antelope. 

"Het,"  said  Jean  uneasily,  ''hae  ye  coowed  yon  sav- 
age, to  be  seared  at  the  wee  beastie  ?  " 

Christie,  looking  askant  at  the  animal,  explained,  "A 
moose  is  an  awesome  beast ;  it's  no  like  a  mon ;  "  and 
still  her  eye  was  fixed  by  fascination  upon  the  four- 
footed  danger. 

Jean,  who  had  not  been  herself  in  genuine  tranquillity, 
now  turned  savagely  on  the  little  Wombwelless  :  "  An' 
div  ye  really  think  ye  are  to  come  here  wi'  a'  the  beasts 
i'  the  Airk  ?     Come,  awa  ye  go,  the  pair  o'  ye." 

These  severe  words,  and  a  smart  push,  sent  the  poor 
little  biped  off  roaring,  with  the  string  over  her  shoul- 
der, recklessly  dragging  the  terrific  quadruped,  which 
made  fruitless  grabs  at  the  shingle.  —  Moral.  Don't  ter- 
rify bigger  folk  than  yourself. 

Christie  had  intended  to  go  up  to  Edinburgh  with  her 
eighty  pounds,  but  there  was  more  trouble  in  store  this 
eventful  day. 

Flucker  went  out  after  dinner,  and  left  her  with 
Sandy  Listen,  who  was  in  the  middle  of  a  yarn,  when 
some  one  came  running  in  and  told  her  Flucker  was  at 
the  pier  crying  for  her.  She  inquired  what  was  the 
matter.  ''  Come  an'  ye'll  see,"  was  all  the  answer.  She 
ran  down  to  the  pier.  There  was  poor  Flucker  lying  on 
his  back  :  he  had  slipped  from  the  pier  into  a  boat  that 
lay  alongside.  The  fall  was  considerable :  for  a  minute 
he  had  been  insensible,  then  he  had  been  dreadfully  sick, 
and  now  he  was  beginning  to  feel  his  hurt ;  he  was  in 
great  anguish ;  nobody  knew  the  extent  of  his  injuries ; 
he  would  let  nobody  touch  him ;  all  his  cry  was  for  his 
sister.  At  last  she  came :  they  all  made  way  for  her : 
he  was  crying  for  her  as  she  came  up. 

"My  bairn  !  my  bairn ! "  cried  she  j  and  the  poor  lit- 


140  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

tie  fellow  smiled,  and  tried  to  raise  himself  towards 
her. 

She  lifted  him  gently  in  her  arms ;  she  was  powerful, 
and  affection  made  her  stronger.  She  carried  him  in  her 
arms  all  the  way  home,  and  laid  him  on  her  own  bed. 
Willy  Liston,  her  discarded  suitor,  ran  for  the  surgeon. 
There  were  no  bones  broken,  but  his  ankle  was  severely 
sprained,  and  he  had  a  terrible  bruise  on  the  loins.  His 
dark,  ruddy  face  was  streaked  and  pale,  but  he  never 
complained  after  he  found  himself  at  home. 

Christie  hovered  round  him,  a  ministering  angel, 
applying  to  him  with  a  light  and  loving  hand  whatever 
could  ease  his  pain ;  and  he  watched  her  with  an  expres- 
sion she  had  never  noticed  in  his  eye  before. 

At  last,  after  two  hours'  silence,  he  made  her  sit  in 
full  view,  and  then  he  spoke  to  her ;  and  what  think  you 
was  the  subject  of  his  discourse  ? 

He  turned  to  and  told  her,  one  after  another,  without 
preface,  all  the  loving  things  she  had  done  to  him  ever 
since  he  was  five  years  old.  Poor  boy  !  he  had  never 
shown  much  gratitude,  but  he  had  forgotten  nothing, 
literally  nothing. 

Christie  was  quite  overcome  with  this  unexpected 
trait :  she  drew  him  gently  to  her  bosom,  and  wept  over 
him  ;  and  it  was  sweet  to  see  a  brother  and  sister  treat 
each  other  almost  like  lovers,  as  these  two  began  to  do 
—  they  watched  each  other's  eye  so  tenderly. 

This  new  care  kept  the  sister  in  her  own  house  all  the 
next  day ;  but  towards  the  evening,  Jean,  who  knew  her 
other  anxiety,  slipped  in  and  offered  to  take  her  place 
for  an  hour  by  Flucker's  side.  At  the  same  time  she 
looked  one  of  those  signals  which  are  too  subtle  for  any 
but  woman  to  understand. 

Christie  drew  her  aside,  and  learned  that  Gatty  and 
his  mother  were  just  coming  through  from  Leith.    Chris- 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  141 

tie  ran  for  her  eighty  pounds,  placed  them  in  her  bosom, 
cast  a  hasty  glance  at  a  looking-glass,  little  larger  than 
an  oyster-shell,  and  ran  out. 

"  Hech !  What  pleased  the  auld  wife  will  be  to  see 
he  has  a  lass  that  can  mak  auchty  pund  in  a  morning." 

This  was  Christie's  notion. 

At  sight  of  them  she  took  out  the  bank-notes,  and 
with  eyes  glistening  and  cheeks  flushing,  she  cried,  — 

"0  Chairles,  ye'll  no  gang  to  jail:  I  hae  the  siller !  " 
and  she  offered  him  the  money  with  both  hands,  and  a 
look  of  tenderness  and  modesty  that  embellished  human 
nature. 

Ere  he  could  speak,  his  mother  put  out  her  hand,  and 
not  rudely,  but  very  coldly,  repelling  Christie's  arm, 
said  in  a  freezing  manner,  — 

"  "We  are  much  obliged  to  you,  but  my  son's  own 
talents  have  rescued  him  from  his  little  embarrassment." 

"A  nobleman  has  bought  my  picture,"  said  Gatty 
proudly. 

"  For  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  said  the  old  lady, 
meaning  to  mark  the  contrast  between  that  sum  and 
what  Christie  had  in  her  hand. 

Christie  remained  like  a  statue,  with  her  arms  extended 
and  the  bank-notes  in  her  hand ;  her  features  worked : 
she  had  much  ado  not  to  cry ;  and  any  one  that  had 
known  the  whole  story,  and  seen  this  unmerited  repulse, 
would  have  felt  for  her ;  but  her  love  came  to  her  aid ; 
she  put  the  notes  in  her  bosom,  sighed  and  said,  — 

"  I  would  hae  likeit  to  hae  been  the  first,  ye  ken,  but 
I'm  real  pleased." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  Gatty,  "  it  was  very  kind  of 
Christie  all  the  same.  0  Chi-istie  ! "  said  he  in  a  tone  of 
despair. 

At  this  kind  word  Christie's  fortitude  was  sore  tried  ; 
she  turned  away  her  head.     She  was  far  too  delicate  to 


142  CHRISTIE   .JOHNSTONE. 

let  them  know  who  had  sent  Lord  Ipsdcn  to  Imy  the 
picture. 

Whilst  she  turned  away,  Mrs.  Gatty  said  in  lier  son's 
ear, — 

"Now  I  have  your  solemn  promise  to  do  it  here,  and 
at  once :  you  will  find  me  on  the  beach  bohind  these 
boats :  do  it." 

The  reader  will  understand  that  during  the  last  few 
days  Mrs.  Gatty  had  improved  her  advantage,  and  that 
Charles  had  positively  consented  to  obey  her.  The  poor 
boy  was  worn  out  with  the  struggle :  he  felt  he  must 
have  peace  or  ilie.  Ho  was  thin  and  pale,  and  sudden 
twitches  came  over  him  :  his  temperament  was  not  fit  for 
such  a  battle ;  and  it  is  to  be  observed  nearly  all  the  talk 
was  on  one  side.  He  had  made  one  expiring  struggle : 
he  described  to  his  niotlier  an  artist's  nature^,  his  strength, 
his  weakness  :  he  besought  her  not  to  be  a  slave  to  gen- 
eral rules,  but  to  inquire  what  sort  of  a  companion  the 
individual  Gatty  needed:  he  lashed  with  true  but  bril- 
liant satire  the  sort  of  wife  his  mother  was  ready  to  see 
him  saddled  with,  —  a  stupid,  unsj'mpathizing  creature, 
whose  ten  children  would,  by  nature's  law,  be  also  stu- 
pid, and  so  be  a  weight  on  him  till  his  dying  day.  He 
painted  Christie  Johnstone,  mind  and  body,  in  words  as 
true  and  bright  as  his  colors  :  he  showed  his  own  weak 
points,  her  strong  ones,  and  how  the  latter  would  fortify 
the  former. 

He  displayed,  in  short,  in  one  minute  more  intellect 
than  his  mother  had  exhibited  in  sixty  years  ;  and  that 
done,  with  all  his  understanding,  wit,  and  eloquence,  he 
succumbed  like  a  child  to  her  stronger  will :  he  prom- 
ised to  break  with  Christie  Johnstone. 

When  Christie  had  recovered  her  composure  and 
turned  round  to  her  companions,  she  found  herself  alone 
with  Charles. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  143 

«  Chairles,"  said  she  gravely. 

"  Christie,"  said  he  uneasily. 

''  Your  mother  does  na  like  me.    Oh  !  ye  need  na  deny 
it ;  and  we  are  na  together  as  Ave  used  to  be,  my  lad." 

"She  is  prejudiced,  but  she  has  been  the  best  of 
mothers  to  me,  Christie." 

"Aweel." 

"  Circumstances  compel  me  to  return  to  England." 

(Ah,  coward !  anything  but  the  real  truth ! ) 

"  Aweel,  Chairles,  it  will  not  be  for  lang." 

"  I  don't  know ;  you  will  not  be  so  unhappy  as  I  shall 
—  at  least  I  hope  not." 

"  Hoow  do  ye  ken  that  ?  " 

"  Christie,  do  you  remember  the  first  night  we  danced 
together  ?  " 

"Ay." 

"  And  we  walked  in  the  cool  by  the  seaside,  and  I  told 
you  the  names  of  the  stars,  and  you  said  those  were  not 
their  real  names,  but  nicknames  we  give  them  here  on 
earth.     I  loved  you  that  first  night." 

"  And  I  fancied  you  the  first  time  I  set  eyes  on  you." 

"  How  can  I  leave  you,  Christie  ?     What  shall'l  do  ?  " 

"  I  ken  what  I  shall  do,"  answered  Christie,  coolly ; 
then  bursting  into  tears  she  added,  "  I  shall  dee  !  I  shall 
dee ! " 

"  No  !  you  must  not  say  so ;  at  least  I  will  never  love 
any  one  but  you." 

"  An'  ril  live  as  I  am  a'  my  days  for  your  sake.  0 
England !  I  hae  likeit  ye  sae  weel,  ye  suld  na  rob  me  o' 
my  lad  —  he's  a'  the  joy  I  hae  ! " 

"  I  love  you,"  said  Gatty.     "  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

All  the  answer  was,  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 
"  I  can't  do  it,"  thought  Gatty,  "  and  I  won't !    Christie," 
said  he,  ''stay  here,  don't  move  from  here."     And  lie 
dashed  among  the  boats  in  great  agitation. 


144  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

He  found  his  mother  rather  near  the  scene  of  the  late 
conference. 

"  Mother,"  said  he  fiercely,  like  a  coward  as  he  was, 
"ask  me  no  more,  my  mind  is  made  up  forever;  I  will 
not  do  this  scoundrelly,  heartless,  beastly,  ungrateful 
action  you  have  been  pushing  me  to  so  long." 

"  Take  care,  Charles,  take  care,"  said  the  old  woman, 
trembling  witli  passion,  for  this  was  a  new  tone  foi*  her 
son  to  take  with  her.  "  You  had  my  blessing  the  other 
day,  and  you  saw  what  followed  it ;  do  not  tempt  me  to 
curse  an  undutiful,  disobedient,  ungrateful  son." 

"  I  must  take  my  chance,"  said  he,  desperately ;  "  for  I 
am  under  a  curse  any  way  !  I  placed  my  ring  on  her 
finger,  and  held  up  my  hand  to  God  and  swore  she  should 
be  my  wife :  she  has  my  ring  ;ind  my  oath,  and  I  will 
not  perjure  myself  even  for  my  mother." 

"Your  ring !  Not  the  ruby  ring  I  gave  you  from  your 
dead  father's  finger  —  not  that !  not  that ! " 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  I  tell  you  yes  !  and  if  he  was  alive,  and 
saw  her,  and  knew  her  goodness,  he  would  have  pity  on 
me,  but  I  have  no  friend  ;  you  see  how  ill  you  have  made 
me,  but  you  have  no  pity ;  I  could  not  have  believed  it ; 
but  since  you  have  no  mercy  on  me,  I  will  have  the  more 
mercy  on  myself;  I  marry  her  to-morrow,  and  put  an 
end  to  all  this  shuffling  and  manoeuvring  against  an 
angel !  I  am  not  worthy  of  her,  but  I'll  marry  her 
to-morrow.     Good-by." 

"  Stay !  '•'  said  the  old  woman,  in  a  terrible  voice ; 
"before  you  destroy  me  and  all  I  have  lived  for,  and 
suffered  and  pinched  for,  hear  me  ;  if  that  ring  is  not 
off  the  hussy's  finger  in  half  an  hour,  and  you  my  son 
again,  I  fall  on  this  sand  and  "  — 

"  Then  God  have  mercy  upon  me,  for  I'll  see  the 
whole  creation  lost  eternall}',  ere  I'll  wrong  the  only 
creature  that  is  an  ornament  to  the  world." 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  145 

He  was  desperate ;  and  the  weak,  driven  to  despera- 
tion, are  more  furious  than  the  strong. 

It  was  by  Heaven's  mercy  that  neither  mother  nor  son 
had  time  to  speak  again. 

As  they  faced  each  other,  with  flaming  eyes  and  faces, 
all  self-command  gone,  about  to  utter  hasty  words,  afid 
lay  up  regret,  perhaps  for  all  their  lives  to  come,  in 
a  moment,  as  if  she  had  started  from  the  earth,  Christie 
Johnstone  stood  between  them  ! 

Gatty's  words,  and  still  more,  his  hesitation,  had  made 
her  quick  intelligence  suspect:  she  had  resolved  to  know 
the  truth;  the  boats  offered  every  facility  for  listening 
—  she  had  heard  every  word. 

She  stood  between  the  mother  and  son. 

They  were  confused,  abashed,  and  the  hot  blood  began 
to  leave  their  faces. 

She  stood  erect  like  a  statue,  her  cheek  pale  as  ashes, 
her  eyes  glittering  like  basilisks,  she  looked  at  neither  of 
them. 

She  slowly  raised  her  left  hand,  she  withdrew  a  ruby 
ring  from  it,  and  dropped  the  ring  on  the  sand  between 
the  two. 

She  turned  on  her  heel,  and  was  gone  as  she  had  come, 
without  a  word  spoken. 

They  looked  at  one  another,  stupefied  at  first ;  after  a 
considerable  pause  the  stern  old  woman  stooped,  picked 
up  the  ring,  and  in  spite  of  a  certain  chill  that  the  young 
woman's  majestic  sorrow  had  given  her,  said,  placing  it 
on  her  own  finger,  "  This  is  for  your  wife !  " 

"  It  will  be  for  my  coffin,  then,"  said  her  son,  so  coldly, 
so  bitterly,  and  so  solemnly,  that  the  mother's  heart 
began  to  quake. 

"Mother,"  said  he,  calmly,  "forgive  me,  and  accept 
your  son's  arm." 

"  I  will,  my  son." 


146  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

"  We  are  alone  in  the  world  now,  mother." 

Mrs.  Gatty  had  triumphed,  but  she  felt  the  price  of 
her  triumph  more  than  her  victory.  It  had  been  done 
in  one  moment,  that  for  which  she  had  so  labored,  and  it 
seemed  that  had  she  spoken  long  ago  to  Christie,  instead 
of  Charles,  it  could  have  been  done  at  any  moment. 

Strange  to  say,  for  some  minutes  the  mother  felt  more 
uneasy  than  her  son ;  she  was  a  woman,  after  all,  and 
could  measure  a  woman's  heart,  and  she  saw  how  deep 
the  wound  she  had  given  one  she  was  now  compelled  to 
respect. 

Charles,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  so  harassed  back- 
Avards  and  forwards,  that  to  him  certainty  was  relief ;  it 
was  a  great  matter  to  be  no  longer  called  upon  to  decide. 
His  mother  had  said  "  Part,"  and  now  Christie  had  said 
"  Part ;  "  at  least  the  affair  was  taken  out  of  his  hands, 
and  his  first  feeling  was  a  heavenly  calm. 

In  this  state  he  continued  for  about  a  mile,  and  he 
spoke  to  his  mother  about  his  art,  sole  object  now;  but 
after  the  first  mile  he  became  silent,  distrait ;  Christie's 
pale  face,  her  mortified  air,  when  her  generous  offer  was 
coldly  repulsed,  filled  him  with  remorse :  finally,  unable 
to  bear  it,  yet  not  daring  to  speak,  he  broke  suddenly 
from  his  mother  without  a  word,  and  ran  wildly  back  to 
Newhaven ;  he  looked  back  only  once,  and  there  stood 
his  mother,  pale,  with  her  hands  piteously  lifted  towards 
heaven. 

By  the  time  he  got  to  Newhaven  he  was  as  sorry  for 
her  as  for  Christie.  He  ran  to  the  house  of  the  latter ; 
Flucker  and  Jean  told  him  she  was  on  the  beach.  He 
ran  to  the  beach ;  he  did  not  see  her  at  first,  but  pres- 
ently looking  back,  he  saw  her,  at  the  edge  of  the  boats, 
in  company  with  a  gentleman  in  a  boating  dress.  He 
looked  —  could  he  believe  his  eyes  ?  he  saw  Christie 
Johnstone  kiss  this  man's  hand,  who  then,  taking  her 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  14.7 

head  gently  in  his  two  hands,  placed  a  kiss  upon  her 
brow,  whilst  she  seemed  to  yield  lovingly  to  the  caress. 

Gatty  turned  faint,*  sick ;  for  a  moment  everything 
swam  before  his  eyes ;  he  recovered  himself,  they  were 
gone. 

He  darted  round  to  intercept  them ;  Christie  had  slipped 
away  somewhere ;  he  encountered  the  man  alone ! 


148  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Christie's  situation  requires  to  be  explained. 

On  leaving  Gatty  and  his  mother,  she  went  to  her 
own  house.  Flucker  —  who  after  looking  upon  her  for 
years  as  an  inconvenient  appendage,  except  at  dinner-time, 
had  fallen  in  love  with  her  in  a  manner  that  was  half 
pathetic,  half  laughable,  all  things  considered —  saw  by 
her  face  she  had  received  a  blow,  and  raising  himself  in 
the  bed,  inquired  anxiously  "  AVhat  ailed  her  ?  " 

At  these  kind  words,  Christie  Johnstone  laid  her  cheek 
upon  the  pillow  beside  Flucker's,  and  said,  — 

"  0,  my  laamb  !  be  kind  to  your  puir  sister  fra  this 
hoor,  for  she  has  nacthing  i'  the  warld  noo  but  yoursel'." 

Flucker  began  to  sob  at  this. 

Christie  could  not  cry ;  her  heart  was  like  a  lump  of 
lead  in  her  bosom ;  but  she  put  her  arm  round  his  neck, 
and  at  the  sight  of  his  sympathy  she  panted  heavily,  but 
could  not  shed  a  tear  —  she  was  sore  stricken. 

Presently  Jean  came  in,  and  as  the  poor  girl's  head 
ached  as  well  as  her  heart,  they  forced  her  to  go  and  sit 
in  the  air.  She  took  her  creepie  and  sat  and  looked  on 
the  sea ;  but  whether  she  looked  seaward  or  landward, 
all  seemed  unreal ;  not  things,  but  hard  pictures  of 
things,  some  moving,  some  still.  Life  seemed  ended  — 
she  had  lost  her  love. 

An  hour  she  sat  in  this  miserable  trance  ;  she  was 
diverted  into  a  better,  because  a  somewhat  less  danger- 
ous form  of  grief,  by  one  of  those  trifling  circumstances 
that  often  penetrate  to  the  human  heart,  when  inaccessi- 
ble to  greater  things. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  149 

Willie,  the  fiddler,  and  his  brother,  came  through  the 
town,  playing  as  they  went,  according  to  custom ;  their 
music  floated  past  Christie's  ears  like  some  drowsy 
chime,  until,  all  of  a  sudden,  they  struck  up  the  old 
English  air,  "  Speed  the  plough." 

Now  it  was  to  this  tune  Charles  Gatty  had  danced 
with  her  their  first  dance  the  night  they  made  acquaint- 
ance. 

Christie  listened,  lifted  up  her  hands,  and  crying  — 

"  Oh,  what  will  I  do  ?  what  will  I  do  ?  "  burst  into  a 
passion  of  grief. 

She  put  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  rocked  herself, 
and  sobbed  bitterly. 

She  was  in  this  situation  when  Lord  Ipsden,  who  was 
prowling  about,  examining  the  proportions  of  the  boats, 
discovered  her. 

Some  one  in  distress  —  that  was  all  in  his  Avay. 

"•  Madam  !  "  said  he. 

She  lifted  up  her  head. 

"  It  is  Christie  Johnstone.  I'm  so  glad ;  that  is,  I'm 
sorry  you  are  crying,  but  I'm  glad  I  shall  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  relieving  you,"  and  his  lordship  began  to  feel  for 
a  check-book. 

"And  div  ye  really  think  siller's  a  cure  for  every 
grief  ?  "  said  Christie  bitterly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  his  lordship ;  *'  it  has  cured 
them  all  as  yet." 

"  It  will  na  cure  me  then ! "  and  she  covered  her  head 
with  her  apron  again. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  he ;  "  tell  me  (whispering) 
what  is  it  ?  poor  little  Christie  !  " 

"  Dinna  speak  to  me ;  I  think  shame ;  ask  Jean.  0 
Richard,  I'll  no  be  lang  in  this  warld  !  " 

"  Ah ! "  said  he,  ''  I  knoAv  too  Avell  what  it  is  now ;  I 
know  by  sad  experience.     But,  Christie,  money  will  cure 


150  CHKISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

it  in  your  case,  and  it  shall,  too ;  only  instead  of  five 
pounds,  we  must  put  a  thousand  pounds  or  two  to  your 
banker's  account,  and  then  they  will  all  see  your  beauty, 
and  run  after  you." 

"  How  daur  ye  even  to  me  that  I'm  seekin'  a  lad  ?  " 
cried  she,  rising  from  her  stool ;  "  I  would  na  care,  sup- 
pose there  was  na  a  lad  in  Britain."   And  off  she  flounced. 

"  Offended  her  by  my  gross  want  of  tact,"  thought  the 
viscount. 

She  crept  back,  and  two  velvet  lips  touched  his  hand. 
That  was  because  she  had  spoken  harshly  to  a  friend. 

"  0  Richard !  "  said  she  despairingly,  "  I'll  no  be  lang 
in  this  warld." 

He  was  touched :  and  it  was  then  he  took  her  head 
and  kissed  her  brow,  and  said,  "  This  will  never  do ;  my 
child,  go  home  and  have  a  nice  cry,  and  I  will  speak  to 
Jean ;  and  rely  upon  me,  I  will  not  leave  the  neighbor- 
hood till  I  have  arranged  it  all  to  your  satisfaction." 

And  so  she  went,  —  a  little,  a  very,  very  little  —  com- 
forted by  his  tone  and  words. 

Now  this  was  all  very  pretty ;  but  then  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance of  fifty  yards,  it  looked  very  ugly ;  and  Gatty,  who 
had  never  before  known  jealousy,  the  strongest  and 
worst  of  human  passions,  was  ripe  for  anything. 

He  met  Lord  Ipsden,  and  said  at  once,  in  his  wise 
temperate  way : 

"  Sir,  you  are  a  villain ! " 
'  Ipsden.     Plait-il? 

Gatty.     You  are  a  villain  ! 

Ipsden.     How  do  you  make  that  out  ? 

Gatty.     But,  of  course,  you  are  not  a  coward,  too. 

Ipsden  (ironically).  You  surprise  me  with  your 
moderation,  sir. 

Gatty.  Then  you  will  waive  your  rank, — you  are  a 
lord,  I  believe,  —  and  give  me  satisfaction. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  151 

Ipsden.  My  rank,  sir,  such  as  it  is,  engages  me  to 
give  a  proper  answer  to  proposals  of  this  sort ;  I  am  at 
your  orders, 

Gatty.  A  man  of  your  character  must  often  have  been 
called  to  an  account  by  your  victims,  so  —  so  (hesitating) 
perhaps  you  will  tell  me  the  proper  course. 

Ipsden.  I  shall  send  a  note  to  the  castle,  and  the 
colonel  will  send  me  down  somebody  with  a  mustache ; 
I  shall  pretend  to  remember  mustache,  mustache  will 
pretend  he  remembers  me ;  he  will  then  communicate 
Avith  your  friend,  and  they  will  arrange  it  all  for  us. 

Gatty.  And,  perhaps,  through  your  licentiousness, 
one  or  both  of  us  will  be  killed. 

Ipsden.  Yes  ;  but  we  need  not  trouble  our  heads  about 
that,  —  the  seconds  undertake  everything. 

Gatty.     I  have  no  pistols. 

Ipsden.  If  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to  use  one  of 
mine,  it  shall  be  at  your  service. 

Gatty.     Thank  you. 

Ipsden.     To-morrow  morning  ? 

Gatty.  No.  I  have  four  days'  painting  to  do  on  my 
picture  ;  I  can't  die  till  it  is  finished ;  —  Friday  morning. 

Ipsden.  (He  is  mad.)  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  question ; 
you  will  excuse  my  curiosity.  Have  you  any  idea  what 
we  are  agreeing  to  differ  about  ? 

Gatty.  The  question  does  you  little  credit,  my  lord; 
that  is  to  add  insult  to  wrong. 

He  went  off  hurriedly,  leaving  Lord  Ipsden  mystified. 

He  thought  Christie  Johnstone  was  somehow  connected 
with  it ;  but  conscious  of  no  wrong,  he  felt  little  disposed 
to  put  up  with  any  insult,  especially  from  this  boy,  to 
whom  he  had  been  kind,  he  thought. 

His  lordship  was,  besides,  one  of  those  good,  simple- 
minded  creatures,  educated  abroad,  Avho,  when  invited  to 
fight,  simply  bow,  and  load  two  pistols,  and  get  them- 


152  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

selves  called  at  six ;  instead  of  taking  down  tomes  of 
casuistry  and  puzzling  their  poor  brains  to  find  out 
whether  they  are  game-cocks  or  capons,  and  why. 

As  for  Gatty,  he  hurried  home  in  a  fever  of  passion, 
begged  his  mother's  pardon,  and  reproached  himself  for 
ever  having  disobeyed  her  on  account  of  such  a  perfidi- 
ous creature  as  Christie  Johnstone. 

He  then  told  her  what  he  had  seen,  as  distance  and 
imagination  had  presented  it  to  him ;  to  his  surprise  the 
old  lady  cut  him  short. 

"  Charles,"  said  she,  "  there  is  no  need  to  take  the 
girl's  character  away ;  she  has  but  one  fault,  —  she  is 
not  in  the  same  class  of  life  as  you,  and  such  marriages 
always  lead  to  misery :  but  in  other  respects  she  is  a 
worthy  young  woman,  —  don't  speak  against  her  char- 
acter, or  you  will  make  my  flesh  creep ;  you  don't  know 
what  her  character  is  to  a  woman,  high  or  low." 

By  this  moderation  perhaps  she  held  him  still  faster. 

Friday  morning  arrived.  Gatty  had,  by  hard  work, 
finished  his  picture,  collected  his  sketches  from  nature, 
which  were  numerous,  left  by  memorandum  everything 
to  his  mother,  and  was,  or  rather  felt,  as  ready  to  die  as 
live. 

He  had  hardly  spoken  a  word,  or  eaten  a  meal,  these 
four  days ;  his  mother  was  in  anxiety  about  him.  He 
rose  early,  and  went  down  to  Leith ;  an  hour  later,  his 
mother,  finding  him  gone  out,  rose,  and  went  to  seek 
him  at  Newhaven. 

Meantime  Flucker  had  entirely  recovered,  but  his 
Bister's  color  had  left  her  cheeks  ;  and  the  boy  swore 
vengeance  against  the  cause  of  her  distress. 

On  Friday  morning,  then,  there  paced  on  Leith  Sands 
two  figures. 

One  was  Lord  Ipsden. 

The  other  seemed  a  military  gentleman,  who  having 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  153 

swallowed  the  mess-room  poker,  and  found  it  insuffi- 
cient, had  added  the  ramrods  of  his  company. 

The  more  his  lordship  reflected  on  Gatty,  the  less 
inclined  he  had  felt  to  invite  a  satirical  young  dog  from 
barracks  to  criticise  such  a,  rencontre;  he  had  therefore 
ordered  Saunders  to  get  up  as  a  field-marshal,  or  some 
such  trifle,  and  what  Saunders  would  have  called  incom- 
parable verticality  was  the  result. 

The  painter  was  also  in  sight. 

Whilst  he  was  coming  up.  Lord  Ipsden  was  lecturing 
Marshal  Saunders  on  a  point  on  which  that  worthy  had 
always  thought  himself  very  superior  to  his  master  — 
"  Gentlemanly  deportment." 

"Now,  Saunders,  mind  and  behave  like  a  gentleman, 
or  we  shall  be  found  out." 

"  I  trust,  my  lord,  my  conduct "  — 

*'  What  I  mean  is,  you  must  not  be  so  overpoweringly 
gentleman-like,  as  you  are  apt  to  be ;  no  gentleman  is  so 
gentleman-like  as  all  that ;  it  could  not  be  borne,  c'est 
suffoquant ;  and  a  white  handkerchief  is  unsoldier-like 
—  and  nobody  ties  a  white  handkerchief  so  well  as  that ; 
of  all  the  vices,  perfection  is  the  most  intolerable,"  His 
lordship  then  touched  with  his  cane  the  generalissimo's 
tie,  whose  countenance  straightway  fell,  as  though  he 
had  lost  three  successive  battles. 

Gatty  came  up. 

They  saluted. 

"  Where  is  your  second,  sir  ?  "  said  the  marechal. 

"  My  second  ?  "  said  Gatty.  "  Ah !  I  forgot  to  wake 
him  —  does  it  matter  ?  " 

"■  It  is  merely  a  custom,"  said  Lord  Ipsden,  with  a  very 
slight^  satirical  manner.  "  Savanadero,"  said  he,  "  do 
us  the  honor  to  measure  the  ground,  and  be  everybody's 
second." 

Savanadero  measured  the  ground,  and  handed  a  pistol 


154  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

to  each  combatant,  and  struck  an  imposing  attitude 
apart. 

"  Are  you  ready,  gentlemen  ?  "  said  this  Jack-o'-both- 
sides. 

"  Yes ! "  said  both. 

Just  as  the  signal  was  about  to  be  given,  an  inter- 
ruption occurred.  —  "I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Lord 
Ipsden  to  his  antagonist ;  "  I  am  going  to  take  a  libert;/ 
—  a  great  llhertu  with  you,  but  I  think  you  will  find  your 
pistol  is  only  at  half-cock." 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord ;  what  am  I  to  do  with  the 
thing  ?  " 

"  Draw  back  the  cock  so,  and  be  ready  to  fire." 

«  So  ?  "     Bancj  ! 

He  had  touched  the  trigger  as  well  as  the  cock,  so  off 
went  the  barker;  and  after  a  considerable  pause  the 
field-marshal  sprang  j-elling  into  the  air. 

''  Hallo  !  "  cried  Mr.  Gatty. 

"  Ah  !  oh  !  I'm  a  dead  man,"  whined  the  general. 

"Nonsense  !"  said  Ipsden,  after  a  moment  of  anxiety. 
"  Give  yourself  no  concern,  sir,"  said  he,  soothingly,  to 
his  antagonist  —  '*  a  mere  accident.  —  Marechal,  reload 
Mr.  Gatty's  pistol." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  lord  "  — 

''  Load  his  pistol  directly,"  said  his  lordship,  sternly  ; 
"and  behave  like  a  gentleman." 

"  ]\Iy  lord !  my  lord  !  but  where  shall  I  stand  to  be 
safe  ?  " 

"  Behind  me  !  " 

The  commander  of  division  advanced  reluctantly  for 
Gatty's  pistol. 

"No,  my  lord  !  "  said  Gatty,  "  it  is  plain  I  am  not  a  fit 
antagonist ;  I  shall  but  expose  myself  —  and  my  mother 
has  separated  us  ;  I  have  lost  her  —  if  you  do  not  win 
her,  some  worse  man  may;  but  oh!  if  you  are  a  man  use 
her  tenderly." 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  155 

«  Whom  ?  " 

'"  Christie  Johnstone  !  O  sir,  do  not  make  her  regret 
me  too  much  !  She  was  my  treasure,  my  consolation,  — 
she  was  to  be  my  wife,  she  would  have  cheered  the  road 
of  life  —  it  is  a  desert  now.     I  loved  her  —  I  —  I "  — 

Here  the  poor  fellow  choked. 

Lord  Ipsden  turned  round,  and  threw  his  pistol  to 
Saunders,  saying,  "  Catch  that,  Saunders." 

Saunders,  on  the  contrary,  by  a  single  motion  changed 
his  person  from  a  vertical  straight  line  to  a  horizontal 
line,  exactly  parallel  with  the  earth's  surface,  and  the 
weapon  sang  innoxious  over  him. 

His  lordship  then,  with  a  noble  defiance  of  etiquette, 
walked  up  to  his  antagonist,  and  gave  him  his  hand 
with  a  motion  no  one  could  resist ;  —  for  he  felt  for  the 
poor  fellow. 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake,"  said  he.  "  There  is  no  sentiment 
between  La  Johnstone  and  me  but  mutual  esteem.  1 
will  explain  the  whole  thing ;  /  admire  her  for  her 
virtue,  her  wit,  her  innocence,  her  goodness,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  ;  and  s?ie  —  what  s?ie  sees  in  me,  I  am  sure 
I  don't  know,"  added  he,  slightly  shrugging  his  aristo- 
cratic shoulders.  "  Do  me  the  honor  to  breakfast  with 
me  at  Newhaven." 

"  I  have  ordered  twelve  sorts  of  fish  at  the  '  Peacock,' 
my  lord,"  said  Saunders. 

"  Divine  !  (I  hate  fish.)  I  told  Saunders  all  would  be 
hungry  and  none  shot ;  by-the-by,  you  are  winged,  I 
think  you  said,  Saunders  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord !  but  look  at  my  trousers." 

The  bullet  had  cut  his  pantaloons. 

"  I  see  —  only  barked ;  so  go  and  see  about  our 
breakfast." 

"  Yes,  my  lord  "  (faintly). 

"  And  draw  on  me  for  fifty  pounds  worth  of  —  new 
trousers." 


156  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

"  Yes,  ray  lord  "  (sonorously). 

The  duellists  separated,  Gatty  taking  the  short  cut  to 
Newhaven;  he  proposed  to  take  his  favorite  swim  there, 
to  refresh  himself  before  breakfast ;  and  he  went  from 
his  lordship  a  little  cheered  by  remarks  which  fell  from 
him,  and  which,  though  vague,  sounded  friendly ;  —  poor 
fellow,  except  when  he  had  brush  in  hand  he  was  a 
dreamer. 

This  viscount,  who  did  not  seem  to  trouble  his  head 
about  class  dignity,  was  to  convert  his  mother  from  her 
aristocratic  tendencies,  or  something. 

Que  sais-je  ?  what  will  not  a  dreamer  hope  ? 

Lord  Ipsden  strolled  along  the  sands,  and  judge  his 
surprise,  when,  attended  by  two  footmen,  he  met  at  that 
time  in  the  morning,  Lady  Barbara  Sinclair. 

Lord  Ipsden  had  been  so  disheartened  and  piqued  by 
this  lady's  conduct,  that  for  a  whole  week  he  had  not 
been  near  her;  this  line  of  behavior  sometimes  answers. 

She  met  him  with  a  grand  display  of  cordiality. 

She  inquired,  "  Whether  he  had  heard  of  a  most  gallant 
action,  that,  coupled  with  another  circumstance  (here  she 
smiled)  had  in  part  reconciled  her  to  the  age  we  live 
in?" 

He  asked  for  further  particulars. 

She  then  informed  him  "  that  a  ship  had  been  ashore 
on  the  rocks,  that  no  fisherman  dared  venture  out,  that  a 
young  gentleman  had  given  them  his  whole  fortune,  and 
so  bribed  them  to  accompany  him ;  that  he  had  saved  the 
ship  and  the  men's  lives,  paid  away  his  fortune,  and 
lighted  an  odious  cigar,  and  gone  home,  never  minding, 
amidst  the  blessings  and  acclamations  of  a  maritime 
population." 

A  beautiful  story  she  told  him ;  so  beautiful,  in  fact, 
that  until  she  had  discoursed  ten  minutes,  he  hardly 
recognized  his  own  feat ;  but  when  he  did,  he  blushed 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  157 

inside  as  well  as  out  with  pleasure.  Oh  !  music  of  music 
—  praise  from  eloquent  lips,  and  those  lips,  the  lips  we 
love. 

The  next  moment  he  felt  ashamed ;  ashamed  that 
Lady  Barbara  should  praise  him  beyond  his  merits,  as 
he  conceived. 

He  made  a  faint  hypocritical  endeavor  to  moderate 
her  eulogium ;  this  gave  matters  an  unexpected  turn : 
Lady  Barbara's  eyes  flashed  defiance. 

"  I  say  it  was  a  noble  action,  that  one  nursed  in  effem- 
inacy (as  you  all  are)  should  teach  the  hardy  seamen  to 
mock  at  peril  —  noble  fellow  ! " 

"  He  did  a  man's  duty,  Barbara." 

"  Ipsden,  take  care,  you  will  make  me  hate  you,  if  you 
detract  from  a  deed  you  cannot  emulate.  This  gentle- 
man risked  his  own  life  to  save  others  —  he  is  a  hero!  I 
should  know  him  by  his  face  the  moment  I  saw  him. 
^Oh  that  I  were  such  a  man,  or  knew  where  to  find  such 
a  creature ! " 

The  water  came  into  Lord  Ipsden's  eyes ;  he  did  not 
know  what  to  say  or  do ;  he  turned  away  his  head. 

Lady  Barbara  was  surprised  ;  her  conscience  smote 
her. 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  she,  "there  now,  I  have  given  you 
pain  —  forgive  me ;  we  can't  all  be  heroes  ;  dear  Ipsden, 
don't  think  I  despise  you  now  as  I  used.  Oh,  no !  I 
have  heard  of  your  goodness  to  the  poor,  and  I  have 
more  experience  now.  There  is  nobody  I  esteem  more 
than  you,  Richard,  so  you  need  not  look  so." 

"  Thank  you,  dearest  Barbara." 

"  Yes,  and  if  you  were  to  be  such  a  goose  as  to  write 
me  another  letter  proposing  absurdities  to  me  "  — 

"  Would  the  answer  be  different  ?  " 

"Very  different." 

"  0  Barbara,  would  you  accept  ?  " 


15S  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

"Why,  of  course  not  —  but  I  would  refuse  civilly!" 

"Ah!" 

"  There,  don't  sigh ;  I  hate  a  sighing  man.  I'll  tell 
you  something  that  I  know  will  make  you  laugh."  She 
then  smiled  saucily  in  his  face,  and  said,  "  Do  you  remem- 
ber Mr., ?" 

Ueffrontee!  this  was  the  earnest  man. 

But  Ipsden  was  a  match  for  her  this  time. 

" I  think  1  do,"  said  he ;  "a  gentleman  Avho  wants  to 
make  John  Bull  little  again  into  John  Calf;  but  it  won't 
do." 

Her  ladyship  laughed.  "  Why  did  you  not  tell  us  that 
on  Inch  Coombe  ?  " 

"Because  I  had  not  read  ^The  Catspaw'  then." 

"  *  The  Catspaw '?  Ah !  I  thought  it  could  not  be  you. 
Whose  is  it  ?  " 

«  Mr.  Jerrold's." 

"  Then  Mr.  Jerrold  is  cleverer  than  you." 

"It  is  possible." 

"  It  is  certain !  Well,  Mr.  Jerrold  and  Lord  Ipsden, 
you  will  both  be  glad  to  hear  that  it  was,  in  point  of 
fact,  a  bull  that  confuted  the  advocate  of  the  Middle 
Ages ;  we  were  Avalking ;  he  was  telling  me  manhood 
was  extinct  except  in  a  few  earnest  men  who  lived  upon 
the  past,  its  associations,  its  truth ;  when  a  horrid  bull 
gave  —  oh  —  such  a  bellow!  and  came  trotting  up.  T 
screamed  and  ran  —  I  remember  nothing  but  arriving  at 
the  stile,  and  lo,  on  the  other  side,  offering  me  his  arm 
with  empressement  across  the  wooden  barrier,  was  " — 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well !  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"No — oh  —  yes,  I  see!  —  fancy  —  ah!  Shall  I  tell 
you  how  he  came  to  get  first  over  ?  He  ran  more 
earnestly  than  you." 

"  It  is  not  Mr.  Jerrold  this  time,  I  presume,"  said  her 
satirical  ladyship. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  159 

"  No !  you  cannot  always  have  him.  I  venture  to 
predict  your  ladyship  on  your  return  home  gave  this 
mediaeval  personage  his  congeJ" 

"No?" 

"  1  gave  it  him  at  the  stile  !  Let  us  be  serious,  if  you 
please ;  I  have  a  confidence  to  make  you,  Ipsden.  Franklj'', 
I  owe  you  some  apology  for  my  conduct  of  late ;  I  meant 
to  be  reserved  —  I  have  been  rude,  — but  you  shall  judge 
me.  A  year  ago  you  made  me  some  proposals ;  I  rejected 
them  because,  though  I  like  you  "  — 

"  You  like  me  ?  " 

"  I  detest  your  character.  Since  then,  my  West  India 
estate  has  been  turned  into  specie ;  that  specie,  tlie  bulk 
of  my  fortune,  placed  on  board  a  vessel ;  that  vessel  lost, 
at  least  we  think  so  —  she  has  not  been  heard  of." 

"  My  dear  cousin  !  " 

"Do  you  comprehend  that  now  I  am  cooler  than  ever 
to  all  young  gentlemen  who  have  large  incomes,  and 
(holding  out  her  hand  like  an  angel)  I  must  trouble  you 
to  forgive  me." 

He  kissed  her  lovely  hand. 

"  I  esteem  you  more  and  more,"  said  he. 

"  You  ought,  for  it  has  been  a  hard  struggle  to  me 
not  to  adore  you,  because  you  are  so  improved,  mon 
couslny 

"  Is  it  possible  ?     In  what  respect  ?  " 

"  You  are  browner  and  charitabler ;  and  I  should  have 
been  very  kind  to  you  —  mawkishly  kind  I  fear,  my 
sweet  cousin,  if  this  wretched  money  had  not  gone  dov/n 
in  the  Tisbe." 

"  Hallo  ! "  cried  the  viscount. 

"  Ah !  "  squeaked  Lady  Barbara,  unused  to  such  inter- 
jections. 

"  Gone  down  in  what  ?  "  said  Ipsden  in  a  loud  voice, 


160  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

"Don't  bellow  in  people's  ears.  The  Tisbe,  stupid," 
cried  she,  screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

"  Ri  turn,  ti  turn,  ti  turn,  turn,  turn,  tiddy,  iddy,"  went 
Lord  Ipsden,  —  he  whistled  a  polka. 

Ladij  Barbara  (inspecting  him  gravely).  T  have  heard 
it  at  a  distance,  but  I  never  saw  how  it  was  done  before. 
It  is  very,  very  pretty  ! 

Ipsden.     Polkez-vous,  viadame  ? 

Lady  Barbara.     SI,  jepolke,  monsieur  le  vicomte. 

They  polked  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  I  am  wrong,"  cried  Lady  Barbara, 
"but  I  like  you  better  now  you  are  a  downright  —  ahem  ! 
than  when  you  were  only  an  insipid  non-intellectual  — 
You  are  greatly  improved." 

Ipsden.     In  what  respects  ? 

Lady  Barbara.  Did  I  not  tell  you  ?  browner  and  more 
impudent ;  but  tell  me  (said  she,  resuming  her  sly  satirical 
tone)  how  is  it  that  you,  who  used  to  be  the  pink  of 
courtesy,  dance  and  sing  over  the  wreck  of  my  fortunes  ? 

"  Because  they  are  not  wrecked." 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  my  specie  is  gone  down  in  the 
Tisbe." 

Ipsden.     But  the  Tisbe  has  not  gone  down. 

Lady  Barbara.     I  tell  you  it  is. 

Ipsden.     I  assure  you  it  is  not. 

Lady  Barbara.     It  is  not  ? 

Ipsden.  Barbara  !  I  am  too  happy,  I  begin  to  nourish 
such  sweet  hopes  once  more  ;  oh,  I  could  fall  on  my  knees 
and  bless  you  for  something  you  said  just  now. 

Lady  Barbara  blushed  to  the  temples. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  ?  "  said  she.  "  All  you  want  is 
a  little  enthusiasm."  Then  recovering  herself,  she 
said,  — 

"  You  kneel  on  wet  sand,  with  black  trousers  on ;  that 
will  never  be  ! " 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  161 

These  two  were  so  occupied  that  they  did  not  observe 
the  approach  of  a  stranger  until  he  broke  in  upon  their 
dialogue. 

An  ancient  mariner  had  been  for  some  minutes  stand- 
ing off  and  on,  reconnoitring  Lord  Ipsden ;  he  now  bore 
down,  and  with  great  rough,  roaring  cordiality,  that 
made  Lady  Barbara  start,  cried  out,  — 

"Give  me  your  hand,  sir,  —  give  me  your  hand,  if 
you  were  twice  a  lord. 

"  I  couldn't  speak  to  you  till  the  brig  was  safe  in  port, 
and  you  slipped  away,  but  I've  brought  you  up  at  last; 
and  —  give  me  your  hand  again,  sir.  I  say,  isn't  it  a 
pity  you  are  a  lord  instead  of  a  sailor  ?  " 

Ipsden.     But  I  am  a  sailor. 

Ancient  Mariner.  That  ye  are,  and  as  smart  a  one  as 
ever  tied  a  true-lover's  knot  in  the  top ;  but  tell  the 
truth,  you  were  never  nearer  losing  the  number  of  your 
mess  than  that  day  in  the  old  Tisbe. 

Lady  Barbara.     The  old  Tisbe  !     Oh  ! 

Ipsden.  Do  you  remember  that  nice  little  lurch  she 
gave  to  leeward  as  we  brought  her  round  ? 

Lady  Barbara.     0  Eichard  ! 

Ancient  Mariner.  And  that  reel  the  old  wench  gave 
under  our  feet,  north  the  pier-head.  I  wouldn't  have 
given  a  washing-tub  for  her  at  that  moment. 

Ipsden.  Past  danger  becomes  pleasure,  sir.  Olim  et 
hcec  memlnisse  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 

Ancient  Mariner  (taking  off  his  hat,  with  feeling). 
God  bless  ye,  sir,  and  send  ye  many  happy  days,  and 
well  spent,  with  the  pretty  lady  I  see  alongside  ;  asking 
your  pardon,  miss,  for  parting  pleasanter  company,  —  so 
I'll  sheer  off. 

And  away  went  the  skipper  of  the  Tisbe,  rolling  fear- 
fully. In  the  heat  of  this  reminiscence,  the  skipper  of 
the   yacht    (they  are  all  alike,  blue  water  once   fairly 

Vol.  9—12 


162  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONM. 

tasted)  had  lost  sight  of  Lady  Barbara ;  he  now  looked 
round.     Imagine  his  surprise  I 

Her  ladyship  was  in  tears. 

"Dear  Barbara,"  said  Lord  Ipsden,  "do  not  distress 
yourself  on  my  account." 

"  It  is  not  your  fe-feelings  I  care  about ;  at  least,  I 
h-h-hope  not;  but  I  have  been  so  unjust,  and  I  prided 
myself  so  on  my  j-ju-justice." 

"  Never  mind !  " 

"  Oh  !  if  you  don't,  I  don't.  I  hate  myself,  so  it  is  no 
wonder  you  h-hate  me." 

"  I  love  you  more  than  ever." 

"  Then  you  are  a  good  soul !  Of  course  you  know  I 
always  Z-esteemed  you,  Richard." 

"  No !     I  had  an  idea  you  despised  me  ! " 

"  How  silly  you  are !  Can't  you  see  ?  When  I 
thought  you  were  not  perfection,  which  you  are  now,  it 
vexed  me  to  death ;  you  never  saw  me  affront  any  one 
but  you  ?  " 

"No,  I  never  did  !     What  does  that  prove  ?  " 

"  That  dei)ends  upon  the  wit  of  him  that  reasons 
thereon."     (Coming  to  herself.) 

"  I  love  you,  Barbara !  Will  you  honor  me  with  your 
hand  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  am  not  so  base,  so  selfish ;  you  are  worth  a 
hundred  of  me,  and  here  have  I  been  treating  you  de 
haut  en  has.  Dear  Richard,  poor  Richard  !  Oh,  oh,  oh  ! " 
(A  perfect  flood  of  tears.) 

"  Barbara,  I  regret  nothing ;  this  moment  pays  for 
all." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will !  since  you  keep  pressing  me. 
There,  let  me  go ;  I  must  be  alone ;  I  must  tell  the  sea 
how  unjust  I  was,  and  how  happy  I  am,  and  when  you 
see  me  again,  you  shaU  see  the  better  side  of  youi 
cousiu  Barbara." 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  163 

She  was  peremptory.  "  She  had  her  folly  and  his 
merits  to  think  over,"  she  said ;  but  she  promised  to 
pass  through  Newhaven,  and  he  should  put  her  into  her 
pony-phaeton,  which  would  meet  her  there. 

Lady  Barbara  was  only  a  fool  by  the  excess  of  her 
^v'it  over  her  experience ;  and  Lord  Ipsden's  love  was 
1  ot  misplaced,  for  she  had  a  great  heart  which  she  hid 
from  little  people.     I  forgive  her. 

The  resolutions  she  formed  in  company  with  the  sea, 
having  dismissed  Ij^sden,  and  ordered  her  flunky  into 
the  horizon,  will  probably  give  our  viscount  just  half  a 
century  of  conjugal  bliss. 

As  he  was  going,  she  stopped  him  and  said,  "  Your 
friend  had  browner  hands  than  I  have  hitherto  conceived 
possible.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  took  them  for  the  claws  of 
a  mahogany  table  when  he  grappled  you,  —  is  that  the 
term  ?     Cest  egal !  I  like  him  "  — 

She  stopped  him  again.  "  Ipsden,  in  the  midst  of  all, 
that  poor  man's  ship  is  broken.  I  feel  it  is  !  You  will 
buy  him  another,  if  you  really  love  me,  —  for  I  like 
him." 

And  so  these  lovers  parted  for  a  time ;  and  Lord 
Ipsden  with  a  bounding  heart  returned  to  Newhaven. 
He  went  to  entertain  his  late  vis-a-vis  at  the  ''  Peacock." 

Meantime  a  shorter  and  less  pleasant  rencontre  had 
taken  place  between  Leith  and  that  village. 

Gatty  felt  he  should  meet  his  lost  sweetheart ;  and 
sure  enough,  at  a  turn  of  the  road  Christie  and  Jean 
came  suddenly  upon  him. 

Jean  nodded,  but  Christie  took  no  notice  of  him ;  they 
passed  him  ;  he  turned  and  followed  them,  and  said, 
"Christie!" 

"  What  is  your  will  wi'  me  ?  "  said  she  coldly. 

"I —  I  —  how  pale  you  are  ! " 

"I  am  no  very  weel." 


164  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

"  She  has  been  watching  over  muckle  wi'  Flucker," 
said  Jean. 

Christie  thanked  her  with  a  look. 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  —  not "  — 

"  Nae  fears,  lad,"  said  she  briskly ;  "  I  dinna  think 
that  muckle  o'  ye." 

"And  I  think  of  nothing  but  you,"  said  he. 

A  deep  flush  crimsoned  the  young  woman's  brow,  but 
she  restrained  herself,  and  said  icily,  "  Thaat's  very  gude 
o'  ye,  I'm  sure." 

Gatty  felt  all  the  contempt  her  manners  and  words 
expressed.  He  bit  his  lips :  the  tear  started  to  his  eye. 
"  You  will  forget  me,"  said  he :  "I  do  not  deserve  to 
be  remembered,  but  I  shall  never  forget  you.  I  leave 
for  England :  I  leave  Newhaven  forever,  where  I  have 
been  so  happy.  I  am  going  at  three  o'clock  by  the 
steamboat :  won't  you  bid  me  good-by  ?  "  He  approached 
her  timidly. 

"  Ay  !  that  wull  do,"  cried  she ;  "  Gude  be  wi'  ye,  lad ; 
I  wish  ye  nae  ill."  She  gave  a  commanding  gesture  of 
dismissal ;  he  turned  away,  and  went  sadly  from  her. 

She  watched  every  motion  when  his  back  was  turned. 

"That  is  you,  Christie,"  said  Jean ;  "use  the  lads  like 
dirt,  an'  they  think  a'  the  mair  o'  ye." 

"O  Jean,  my  hairt's  broken.  I'm'  just  deeing  for 
him." 

"  Let  me  speak  till  him  then,"  said  Jean ;  "  I'll  sune 
bring  him  till  his  marrow-banes  ;  "  and  she  took  a  hasty 
step  to  follow  him. 

Christie  held  her  fast.  "  I'd  dee  ere  I'd  give  in  till 
them.  0  Jean !  I'm  a  lassy  clean  flung  awa ;  he  has 
neither  hairt  nor  spunk  ava,  yon  lad  ! " 

Jean  began  to  make  excuses  for  him :  Christie  in- 
veighed against  him ;  Jean  spoke  up  for  him  with  more 
earnestness. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  165 

Now  observe,  Jean  despised  the  poor  boy. 

Christie  adored  him. 

So  Jean  spoke  for  him,  because  women  of  every  degree 
are  often  one  solid  mass  of  tact;  and  Christie  abused 
him,  because  she  wanted  to  hear  him  defended. 


166  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Richard,  Lord  Viscount  Ipsden,  having  dotted  the 
seashore  with  sentinels,  to  tell  him  of  Lady  Barbara's 
approach,  awaited  his  guest  in  the  "  Peacock ; "  but  as 
Gatty  was  a  little  behind  time,  he  placed  Saunders  sen- 
tinel over  the  "  Peacock,"  and  strolled  eastward ;  as  he 
came  out  of  the  "Peacock,"  Mrs.  Gatty  came  down  the 
little  hill  in  front,  and  also  proceeded  eastward ;  mean- 
time Lady  Barbara  and  her  escort  were  not  far  from  the 
New  Town  of  Newhaven,  on  their  way  from  Leith. 

Mrs.  Gatty  came  down,  merely  with  a  vague  fear. 
She  had  no  reason  to  suppose  her  son's  alliance  with 
Christie  either  would  or  could  be  renewed,  but  she  was 
a  careful  player  and  would  not  give  a  chance  away ;  she 
found  he  was  gone  o\it  unusually  early,  so  she  came 
straight  to  the  only  place  she  dreaded ;  it  was  her  son's 
last  day  in  Scotland.  She  had  packed  his  clothes,  and 
lie  had  inspired  her  with  confidence  by  arranging  pict- 
ures, etc.,  himself ;  she  had  no  idea  he  was  packing  for 
his  departure  from  this  life,  not  Edinburgh  only. 

She  came  then  to  Newhaven  with  no  serious  misgiv- 
ings, for  even  if  her  son  had  again  vacillated,  she  saw 
that  with  Christie's  pride  and  her  own  firmness,  the  game 
must  be  hers  in  the  end;  but  as  I  said  before,  she  was 
one  who  played  her  cards  closely,  and  such  seldom  lose. 

But  my  story  is  with  the  two  young  fishwives,  who,  on 
their  return  from  Leith,  found  themselves  at  the  foot  of 
the  New  Town,  Newhaven,  some  minutes  before  any  of 
the  other  persons  who,  it  is  to  be  observed,  were  approach- 
ing it  from  different  points ;  they  came  slowly  in,  Christie 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE,  167 

in  particular,  with  a  listlessness  she  had  never  known 
till  this  last  week ;  for  some  da3^s  her  strength  had  failed 
her  —  it  was  Jean  that  carried  the  creel  now;  before, 
Christie,  in  the  pride  of  her  strength,  would  always  do 
more  than  her  share  of  their  joint  labor ;  then  she  could 
hardly  be  forced  to  eat,  and  what  she  did  eat  was  quite 
tasteless  to  her ;  and  sleep  left  her,  and  in  its  stead  came 
uneasy  slumbers,  from  which  she  awoke,  quivering  from 
head  to  foot. 

Oh !  perilous  venture  of  those  who  love  one  object 
with  the  whole  heart. 

This  great  but  tender  heart  was  breaking  day  by  day. 

Well,  Christie  and  Jean  strolling  slowly  into  the 
New  Town  of  Newhaven,  found  an  assemblage  of  the 
natives  all  looking  seaward ;  the  fishermen,  except  Sandy 
Listen,  were  away  at  the  herring-fishery,  but  all  the  boys 
and  women  of  the  New  Town  were  collected ;  the  girls 
felt  a  momentary  curiosity ;  it  proved,  however,  to  be 
only  an  individual  swimming  in  towards  shore  from  a 
greater  distance  than  usual. 

A  little  matter  excites  curiosity  in  such  places. 

The  man's  head  looked  like  a  spot  of  ink. 

Sandy  Liston  was  minding  his  own  business,  lazily 
mending  a  skait-net,  which  he  had  attached  to  a  crazy 
old  herring-boat  hauled  up  to  rot. 

Christie  sat  down,  pale  and  languid,  by  him,  on  a 
creepie  that  a  lass  who  had  been  baiting  a  line  with 
mussels  had  just  vacated ;  suddenly  she  seized  Jean's 
arm  with  a  convulsive  motion.  Jean  looked  up  —  it  was 
the  London  steamboat  running  out  from  Leith  to  Gran- 
ton  Pier  to  take  up  her  passengers  for  London.  Charles 
Gatty  was  going  by  that  boat ;  the  look  of  mute  despair 
the  poor  girl  gave  went  to  Jean's  heart  —  she  ran  hastily 
from  the  group,  and  cried  out  of  sight  for  poor  Christie. 

A  fishwife  looking  through  a  telescope  at  the  swimmer 


168  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

remarked,  "  He's  coming  in  fast ;  he's  a  gallant  swimmer 
yon  "  — 

"  Can  he  dee't  ?  "  inquired  Christie  of  Sandy  Liston. 

"  Fine  thaat,"  was  the  reply,  "  he  does  it  aye  o'  Sun- 
days when  ye  are  at  the  kirk." 

"It's  no  oot  o'  the  kirk-window  ye'll  hae  seen  him. 
Sandy,  my  mon,"  said  a  young  fishwife. 

"Rin  for  my  glass  ony  way,  Flucker,"  said  Christie, 
forcing  herself  to  take  some  little  interest. 

Flucker  brought  it  to  her.  She  put  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  got  slowly  up,  and  stood  on  the  creepie,  and 
adjusted  the  focus  of  her  glass ;  after  a  short  view  she 
said  to  Flucker,  — 

"Rin  and  see  the  nock."  She  then  levelled  her  glass 
again  at  the  swimmer. 

Flucker  informed  her  the  nock  said  "half  eleven," 
—  Scotch  for  half-past  ten. 

Christie  whipped  out  a  well-thumbed  almanac. 

"  Yon  nock's  aye  ahint,"  said  she.  She  swept  the  sea 
once  more  with  her  glass,  then  brought  it  together  with 
a  click,  and  jumped  off  the  stool ;  her  quick  intelligence 
viewed  the  matter  differently  from  all  the  others. 

"Noow,"  cried  she,  smartly,  "wha'll  lend  me  his 
yawl  ?  " 

"  Hets  !  dinna  be  sae  interferin,  lassie,"  said  a  fishwife. 

"  Hae  nane  o'  ye  ony  spunk  ?  "  said  Christie,  taking 
no  notice  of  the  woman.     "  Speak,  laddies  ! " 

"  M'uncle's  yawl  is  at  the  pier-head ;  ye'll  get  her,  my 
woman,"  said  a  boy. 

"A  schell'n  for  wha's  first  on  board,"  said  Christie, 
holding  up  the  coin. 

"  Come  awa,  Flucker,  we'll  hae  her  schell'n,"  and  these 
two  worthies  instantly  effected  a  false  start. 

"It's  no  under  your  jackets,"  said  Christie,  as  she 
dashed  after  them  like  the  wind. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  169 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  "  laughed  Sandy. 

"What's  her  business  picking  up  a  mon  against  his 
will  ?  "  said  a  woman. 

"  She's  an  awfu'  lassie,"  whined  another. 

The  examination  of  the  swimmer  was  then  continued, 
and  the  crowd  increased;  some  Avould  have  it  he  was 
rapidly  approaching,  others  that  he  made  little  or  no 
way. 

"  Wha  est  ?  "  said  another. 

"It's  a  lummy,"  said  a  girl. 

"  Na !  it's  no  a  lummy,"  said  another. 

Christie's  boat  was  now  seen  standing  out  from 
the  pier.  Sandy  Liston,  casting  a  contemptuous  look 
on  all  the  rest,  lifted  himself  lazily  into  the  herring-boat 
and  looked  seaward.  His  manner  changed  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  The  deevil ! "  cried  he  ;  "  the  tide's  turned !  You  wi' 
your  glass,  could  you  no  see  yon  man's  drifting  oot  to 
sea?" 

"  Hech  ! "  cried  the  women,  "  he'll  be  drooned,  he'll  be 
drooned ! " 

"  Yes,  he'll  be  drooned  ! "  cried  Sandy,  "  if  yon  lassie 
does  na  come  alongside  him  deevelich  quick  —  he's  sair 
spent  I  doot." 

Two  spectators  were  now  added  to  the  scene,  Mrs. 
Gatty  and  Lord  Ipsden.  Mrs.  Gatty  inquired  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  It's  a  mon  drooning,"  was  the  reply. 

The  poor  fellow,  whom  Sandy,  by  aid  of  his  glass, 
now  discovered  to  be  in  a  worn-out  condition,  was  about 
half  a  mile  east  of  Newhaven  pier-head,  and  unfortu- 
nately the  wind  was  nearly  due  east,  Christie  was 
standing  north-north-east,  her  boat-hook  jammed  against 
the  sail,  which  stood  as  flat  as  a  knife. 

The  natives  of  the  Old  Town  were  now  seen  pouring 


170  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

down  to  the  pier  and  the  beach,  and  strangers  were  col- 
lecting like  bees. 

"  After-wit  is  everybody's  wit ! " 

Old  Proverb. 

The  affair  was  in  the  Johnstone's  hands. 

"That  boat  is  not  going  to  the  poor  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Gatty ;  "  it  is  turning  its  back  upon  him." 

"  She  canna  lie  in  the  wind's  eye,  for  as  clever  as  she 
is,"  answered  a  fishwife. 

"I  ken  Avha  it  is,"  suddenly  squeaked  a  little  fishwife  ; 
"  it's  Christie  Johnstone's  lad ;  it's  yon  daft  painter  fr' 
England.  Hech ! "  cried  she,  suddenly,  observing  Mrs. 
Gatty,  "  it's  your  son,  woman." 

The  unfortunate  woman  gave  a  fearful  scream,  and 
flying  like  a  tiger  on  Liston,  commanded  him,  ''to  go 
straight  out  to  sea,  and  save  her  son." 

Jean  Carnie  seized  her  arm  ;  "  Div  ye  see  yon  boat  ?  " 
cried  she ;  "  and  div  ye  mind  Christie,  the  lass  wha's 
hairt  ye  hae  broken  ?  aweel,  woman,  —  Ws  just  a  race 
heUceen  deeth  and  Cirsty  Johnstone  for  your  son'' 

The  poor  old  woman  swooned  dead  away  ;  they  carried 
her  into  Christie  Johnstone's  house,  and  laid  her  down, 
then  hurried  back  —  the  greater  terror  absorbed  the 
less. 

Lady  Barbara  Sinclair  was  there  from  Leith,  and  see- 
ing Lord  Ipsden  standing  in  the  boat  with  a  fisherman, 
she  asked  him  to  tell  her  what  it  was ;  neither  he  nor 
any  one  answered  her. 

"  Why  doesn't  she  come  about,  Liston  ?  "  cried  Lord 
Ipsden,  stamping  with  anxiety  and  impatience. 

''  She'll  no  be  lang,"  said  Sandy ;  "  but  they'll  mak  a 
mess  o't  wi'  ne'er  a  man  i'  the  boat." 

"  Ye're  sure  o'  thaat  ?  "  put  in  a  woman. 

"  Ay,  about  she  comes,"  said  Liston,  as  the  sail  came 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  171 

down  on  the  first  tack.  He  was  mistaken ;  they  dipped 
the  lug  as  cleverly  as  any  man  in  the  town  could. 

"  Hech !  look  at  her  hauling  on  the  rope  like  a  mon," 
cried  a  woman.     The  sail  flew  up  on  the  other  tack. 

"  She's  an  awfu'  lassie,"  whined  another. 

"  He's  awa,"  groaned  Listen,  "  he's  doon  ! " 

"  Xo  !  he's  up  again,"  cried  Lord  Ipsden ;  "  but  I  fear 
he  can't  live  till  the  boat  comes  to  him." 

The  fisherman  and  the  viscount  held  on  by  each  other. 

"  He  does  na  see  her,  or  maybe  he'd  tak  hairt." 

"  I'd  give  ten  thousand  pounds  if  only  he  could  see 
her.  My  God,  the  man  will  be  drowned  under  our  eyes. 
If  he  but  saw  her ! " 

The  words  had  hardly  left  Lord  Ipsden's  lips,  when 
the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice  came  like  an  iEolian  note 
across  the  water. 

"  Hurraih  ! "  roared  Liston,  and  every  creature  joined 
the  cheer. 

"  She'll  no  let  him  dee.  Ah !  she's  in  the  bows,  hail- 
ing him  an'  waving  the  lad's  bonnet  ower  her  head  to 
gie  him  coorage.     Gude  bless  ye,  lass,  Gude  bless  ye  ! " 

Christie  knew  it  was  no  use  hailing  him  against  the 
wind,  but  the  moment  she  got  the  wind  she  darted  into 
the  bows,  and  pitched,  in  its  highest  key,  her  full  and 
brilliant  voice ;  after  a  moment  of  suspense  she  received 
proof  that  she  must  be  heard  by  him,  for  on  the  pier 
now  h\;ng  men  and  women,  clustered  like  bees,  breath- 
less with  anxiety,  and  the  moment  after  she  hailed  the 
drowning  man,  she  saw  and  heard  a  Avild  yell  of  applause 
burst  from  the  pier,  and  the  pier  was  more  distant  than 
the  man.  She  snatched  Plucker's  cap,  planted  her  foot 
on  the  gunwale,  held  on  by  a  rope,  hailed  the  poor  fellow 
again,  and  waved  the  cap  round  and  round  her  head,  to 
give  him  courage ;  and  in  a  moment,  at  the  sight  of  this, 
thousands  of  voices  thundered  back  their  cheers  to  her 


172  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

across  the  water.  Blow,  wind;  spring,  boat;  and  you, 
Christie,  still  ring  life  towards  those  despairing  ears, 
and  wave  hope  to  those  sinking  eyes ;  cheer  the  boat  on, 
you  thousands  that  look  upon  this  action.  Hurrali !  from 
the  pier ;  Hurrah !  from  the  town ;  Hurrah !  from  the 
shore ;  Hurrah !  now,  from  the  very  ships  in  the  roads, 
whose  crews  are  swarming  on  the  yards  to  look;  five 
minutes  ago  they  laughed  at  you ;  three  thousand  eyes 
and  hearts  hang  upon  you  now ;  ay,  these  are  the  moments 
we  live  for ! 

And  now  dead  silence.  The  boat  is  within  fifty  yards, 
they  are  all  three  consulting  together  round  the  mast : 
an  error  now  is  death ;  his  forehead  only  seems  above 
water. 

"If  they  miss  him  on  that  tack,"  said  Lord  Ipsden, 
significantly,  to  Liston. 

"  He'll  never  see  London  Brigg  again,"  was  the  whis- 
pered reply. 

They  carried  on  till  all  on  shore  thought  they  would 
run  over  him,  or  past  him ;  but  no,  at  ten  yards  distant 
they  were  all  at  the  sail,  and  had  it  down  like  lightning; 
and  then  Flucker  sprang  to  the  bows,  the  other  boy  to 
the  helm. 

Unfortunately,  there  were  but  two  Johnstones  in  the 
boat ;  and  this  boy,  in  his  hurry,  actually  put  the  helm 
to  port,  instead  of  to  starboard.  Christie,  who  stood 
amidships,  saw  the  error ;  she  sprang  aft,  flung  the  boy 
from  the  helm,  and  jammed  it  hard-a-starboard  with  her 
foot.  The  boat  answered  the  helm,  but  too  late  for 
Flucker ;  the  man  was  four  yards  from  him  as  the  boat 
drifted  by. 

"  He's  a  deed  mon  ! "  cried  Liston,  on  shore. 

The  boat's  length  gave  one  more  little  chance ;  the 
after-part  must  drift  nearer  him  —  thanks  to  Christie. 
Flucker  flew  aft,  flung  himself  on  his  back,  and  seized 
his  sister's  petticoats. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  l73 

"Fling  yourself  ower  the  gunwale,"  screamed  he. 
"Ye'll  no  hurt;  I'se  haud  ye." 

She  flung  herself  boldly  over  the  gunwale ;  the  man 
was  sinking,  her  nails  touched  his  hair,  her  fingers 
entangled  themselves  in  it,  she  gave  him  a  powerful 
wrench  and  brought  him  alongside;  the  boys  pinned  him 
like  wild  cats. 

Christie  darted  away  forward  to  the  mast,  passed  a 
rope  round  it,  threw  it  the  boys ;  in  a  moment  it  was 
under  his  shoulders.  Christie  hauled  on  it  from  the  fore 
thwart,  the  boys  lifted  him,  and  they  tumbled  him,  gasp- 
ing and  gurgling  like  a  dying  salmon,  into  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  and  flung  net  and  jackets  and  sail  over  him,  to 
keep  the  life  in  him. 

Ah !  draw  your  breath  all  hands  at  sea  and  ashore, 
and  don't  try  it  again,  young  gentleman,  for  there  Avas 
nothing  to  spare :  when  you  were  missed  at  the  bow  two 
stout  hearts  quivered  for  you ;  Lord  Ipsden  hid  his  face 
in  his  two  hands,  Sandy  Liston  gave  a  groan,  and  when 
you  were  grabbed  astern,  jumped  out  of  his  boat,  and 
cried,  — 

"  A  jill  o'  whiskey  for  ony  favor,  for  it's  turned  me  as 
seeck  as  a  doeg."  He  added,  "He  may  bless  yon  lassie's 
fowr  banes,  for  she's  taen  him  oot  o'  death's  maw,  as 
sure  as  Gude's  in  heaven  ! " 

Lady  Barbara,  who  had  all  her  life  been  longing  to  see 
perilous  adventures,  prayed,  and  trembled,  and  cried  most 
piteously ;  and  Lord  Ipsden's  back  was  to  her,  and  he 
paid  no  attention  to  her  voice ;  but  when  the  battle  was 
won  and  Lord  Ipsden  turned  and  saw  her,  she  clung  to 
his  arm  and  dried  her  tears ;  and  then  the  Old  Town 
cheered  the  boat,  and  the  New  Town  cheered  the  boat, 
and  the  towns  cheered  each  other ;  and  the  Johnstones, 
lad  and  lass,  set  their  sail,  and  swept  back  in  triumph 
to  the  pier ;  so  then  Lady  Barbara's  blood  mounted  and 


174  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

tingled  in  her  veins  like  fire.  "  Oh,  how  noble  ! "  cried 
she. 

''Yes,  dearest,"  said  Ipsden.  "You  have  seen  some- 
thing great  done  at  last ;  and  by  a  woman,  too  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara,  "  how  beautiful !  oh,  how  beauti- 
ful it  all  is !  only  the  next  one  I  see,  I  should  like  the 
danger  to  be  over  first,  that  is  all." 

The  boys  and  Christie,  the  moment  they  had  saved 
Gatty,  up  sail  again  for  Newhaven ;  they  landed  in  about 
three  minutes  at  the  pier. 

TiMK.  MiN.  Sec. 

From  Newhaven  town  to  pier  on  foot      ...     1    30 

First  tack 5    30 

Second  tack  and  getting  him  on  board    ...    4    00 
Back  to  the  pier,  going  free 3    30 

Total 14    30 

They  came  in  to  the  pier,  Christie  sitting  quietly  on 
the  thwart  after  her  work,  the  boy  steering,  and  Flucker 
standing  against  the  mast,  hands  in  his  pockets ;  the 
deportment  this  young  gentleman  thought  fit  to  assume 
on  this  occasion  was  "  complete  apathy."  He  came  into 
port  with  the  air  of  one  bringing  home  the  ordinary 
results  of  his  day's  fishing;  this  was,  I  suppose,  to 
impress  the  spectators  with  the  notion  that  saving  lives 
was  an  every-day  affair  with  la  famille  Johnstone ;  as 
for  Gatty,  he  came  to  himself  under  his  heap  of  nets  and 
jackets,  and  spoke  once  between  death's  jaw  and  the 
pier. 

"  Beautiful !  "  murmured  he,  and  was  silent.  The 
meaning  of  this  observation  never  transpired,  and  never 
will  in  this  world.  Six  months  afterwards,  being  sub- 
jected to  a  searching  interrogatory,  he  stated  that  he  had 
alluded  to  the  majesty  and  freedom  of  a  certain  pose 
Christie  had  adopted  whilst  hailing  him  from  the  boat ; 


CHRISTIE   JOHKSTONE.  175 

but,  reader,  if  he  had  wanted  you  and  me  to  believe  it 
■was  this,  he  should  not  have  been  half  a  year  finding 
it  out — increduli  odimus!  They  landed,  and  Christie 
spiang  on  shore ;  whilst  she  was  wending  her  way 
through  the  crowd,  impeded  by  greetings  and  acclama- 
tions, with  ever}-  now  and  then  a  lass  waving  her  ker- 
chief, or  a  lad  his  bonnet,  over  the  heroine's  head,  poor 
Mrs.  Gatty  was  receiving  the  attention  of  the  New  Town ; 
they  brought  her  to,  they  told  her  the  good  news  —  she 
thanked  God. 

The  whole  story  had  spread  like  wildfire ;  they  ex- 
postulated with  her,  they  told  her  now  was  the  time  to 
show  she  had  a  heart,  and  bless  the  young  people. 

She  rewarded  them  with  a  valuable  precept. 

"  Mind  your  own  business  ! "  said  she. 

"Hech !  y'  are  a  dour  wife  ! "  cried  Newhaven. 

The  dour  wife  bent  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

The  people  were  still  collected  at  the  foot  of  the  street, 
but  they  were  now  in  knots,  when  in  dashed  Flucker, 
arriving  by  a  short  cut,  and  crying,  "  She  does  na  ken, 
she  does  na  ken,  she  was  ower  moedest  to  look,  I  daur 
say,  and  ye'll  no  tell  her,  for  he's  a  blackguard,  an'  he's 
just  making  a  fule  o'  the  puir  lass,  and  if  she  kens  what 
she  has  done  for  him,  she'll  be  fonder  o'  him  than  a  coow 
o'  her  cauf." 

"  O  Flucker !  we  maun  tell  her,  it's  her  lad,  her  ain 
lad,  she  saved,"  expostulated  a  woman. 

'•  Did  ever  my  feyther  do  a  good  turn  till  ye  ?  "  cried 
Flucker.  "Aweel,  then,  ye'll  no  tell  the  lassy,  she's 
weel  as  she  is ;  he's  gaun  t'  Enngland  the  day.  I  cannie 
gie  ye  a'  a-hidin,"  said  he,  with  an  eye  that  flashed  volumes 
of  good  intention,  on  a  hundred  and  fifty  people ;  "  but 
I  am  feytherless  and  motherless,  an'  I  can  fa'  on  my 
knees  an'  curse  ye  a'  if  ye  do  us  sic  an  ill  turn,  an'  then 
ye'll  see  whether  ye'll  thrive." 


176  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

"  We'll  no  tell,  Flucker,  ye  need  na  currse  us  ony  way." 

His  lordship,  with  all  the  sharp  authority  of  a  skipper, 
ordered  Master  Flucker  to  the  pier,  with  a  message  co 
the  yacht ;  Flucker  qua  yachtsman  was  a  machine,  and 
went  as  a  matter  of  course.  "  I  am  determined  to  cell 
her,"  said  Lord  Ipsden  to  Lady  Barbara. 

"  But,"  remonstrated  Lady  Barbara,  "  the  poor  boy 
says  he  will  curse  us  if  we  do." 

''He  won't  curse  me." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Because  the  little  blackguard's  grog  would  be  stopped 
on  board  the  yacht  if  he  did." 

Flucker  had  not  been  gone  many  minutes  before  loud 
cheering  was  heard,  and  Christie  Johnstone  appeared 
convoyed  by  a  large  detachment  of  the  Old  Town  ;  she 
had  tried  to  slip  away,  but  they  would  not  let  her.  They 
convoyed  her  in  triumph  till  th-y  saw  the  Kew  Town 
people,  and  then  they  turned  and  left  her. 

She  came  in  amongst  the  groups,  a  changed  woman  — 
her  pallor  and  her  listlessness  were  gone  —  the  old  light 
was  in  her  eye,  and  the  bright  color  in  her  cheek,  and 
she  seemed  hardly  to  touch  the  earth.  ''  I'm  just 
droukit,  lasses,"  cried  she,  gayly,  wringing  her  sleeve. 
Every  eye  was  upon  her ;  did  she  know,  or  did  she  not 
know,  what  she  had  done  ? 

Lord  Ipsden  stepped  forward;  the  people  tacitly  ac- 
cepted him  as  the  vehicle  of  their  curiosity. 

"  Who  was  it,  Christie  ?  " 

"  I  dinna  ken,  for  my  pairt !  " 

Mrs.  Gatty  came  out  of  the  house. 

"  A  handsome  young  fellow,  I  hope,  Christie  ?  "  re- 
sumed Lord  Ipsden. 

"  Ye  maun  ask  Flucker,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  could  no 
tak  muckle  notice,  ye  ken,"  putting  her  hand  before  her 
eye,  and  half  smiling. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  177 

"  Well !  I  hear  he  is  very  good  looking ;  and  I  hear 
vQu  think  so,  too." 

She  glided  to  him,  and  looked  in  his  face.  He  gave  a 
meaning  smile.  The  poor  girl  looked  quite  perplexed. 
Suddenly  she  gave  a  violent  start. 

"  Christie !  where  is  Christie  ?  "  had  cried  a  well- 
known  voice.  He  had  learned  on  the  pier  who  had 
saved  him  —  he  had  slipped  up  among  the  boats  to  find 
her  —  he  could  not  find  his  hat  —  he  could  not  wait  for 
it — his  dripping  hair  showed  where  he  had  been  —  it 
was  her  love,  whom  she  had  just  saved  out  of  death's 
very  jaws. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  love,  that  went  through  every  heart, 
high  or  low,  young  or  old,  that  heard  it.  And  she  went 
to  him,  through  the  air  it  seemed ;  but  quick  as  she  was, 
another  was  as  quick ;  the  mother  had  seen  him  first, 
and  she  was  there.  Christie  saw  nothing.  With  an- 
other cry,  the  very  keynote  of  her  great  and  loving  heart, 
she  flung  her  arms  round  —  Mrs.  Gatty,  Avho  was  on  the 
same  errand  as  herself. 

" Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent; 
Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flint  is  rent." 

The  old  woman  felt  Christie  touch  her.  She  turned 
from  her  son  in  a  moment,  and  wept  upon  her  neck. 
Her  lover  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  pressed  it  to 
his  bosom,  and  tried  to  speak  to  her;  but  all  he  could 
do  was  to  sob  and  choke  —  and  kiss  her  hand  again. 

"  My  daughter !  "  sobbed  the  old  woman. 

At  that  word  Christie  clasped  her  quickly  ;  and  then 
Christie  began  to  cry. 

"  I  am  not  a  stone,"  cried  Mrs.  Gatty.  "  I  gave  liira 
life ;  but  you  have  saved  him  from  death.  0  Charles  ! 
never  make  her  repent  what  she  has  done  for  you." 


178  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

She  was  a  woman  after  all ;  and  prudence  and  prejudice 
melted  like  snow  before  her  heart. 

There  were  not  many  dry  eyes  —  least  of  all  the  heroic 
Lady  Barbara's. 

The  three  whom  a  moment  had  made  one,  were  becom- 
ing calmer,  and  taking  one  another's  hands  for  life,  when 
a  diabolical  sound  arose  —  and  what  was  it,  but  Sandy 
Liston,  who,  after  furious  resistance,  was  blubbering  with 
explosive  but  short-lived  violence.  Having  done  it,  he 
was  the  first  to  draw  everybody's  attention  to  the  phe- 
nomenon ;  and  affecting  to  consider  it  a  purely  physical 
attack,  like  a  coup  de  soleil,  or  so  on,  he  proceeded 
instantly  to  Drysel's  for  his  panacea. 

Lady  Barbara  enjoined  Lord  Ipsden  to  watch  these 
people,  and  not  to  lose  a  word  they  said ;  and  after  she 
had  insisted  upon  kissing  Christie,  she  went  off  to  her 
carriage.  And  she,  too,  was  so  happy,  she  cried  three 
distinct  times  on  her  way  to  Edinburgh. 

Lord  Ipsden  having  reminded  Gatty  of  his  engagement, 
begged  him  to  add  his  mother  and  Christie  to  the  party, 
and  escorted  Lady  Barbara  to  her  phaeton. 

So  then  the  people  dispersed  by  degrees. 

"  That  old  lady's  face  seems  familiar  to  me,"  said  Lord 
Ipsden,  as  he  stood  on  the  little  natural  platform  by  the 
"  Peacock."     "  Do  you  know  who  she  is,  Saunders  ?  " 

"It  is  Peggy,  that  was  cook  in  your  lordship's  uncle's 
time,  my  lord.  She  married  a  greengrocer,"  added 
Saunders,  with  an  injured  air. 

"  Hech  !  hech  ! "  cried  Flucker,  "  Christie  has  ta'en  up 
her  head  wi'  a  cook's  son." 

Mrs.  Gatty  was  ushered  into  the  "  Peacock,"  with 
mock  civility,  by  Mr.  Saunders.  No  recognition  took 
place,  each  being  ashamed  of  the  other  as  an  acquaint- 
ance. 

The    next  arrival  was  a  beautiful   young  lady,  in  a 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.  179 

black  silk  gown,  a  plain  but  duck-like  plaid  shawl, 
who  proved  to  be  Christie  Johnstone,  in  her  Sunday 
attire. 

When  they  met,  Mrs.  Gatty  gave  a  little  scream  of 
joy,  and  said,  "  0  my  child  !  if  I  had  seen  you  in  that 
dress,  I  should  never  have  said  a  word  against  you." 

' '  Pars  minima  est  ipsa  puella  sui ! " 

His  lordship  stepped  up  to  her,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
said,  "  Will  Mrs.  Gatty  take  from  me  a  commission  for 
two  pictures,  as  big  as  herself,  and  as  bonny,"  added  he, 
doing  a  little  Scotch,  He  handed  her  a  check ;  and 
turning  to  Gatty,  added,  "  at  your  convenience,  sir.  Men 
entendti" 

"  Hech !  it's  for  five  hundred  pund,  Chairles." 

"  Good  gear  gangs  in  little  book,"  ^  said  Jean. 

"  Ay,  does  it,"  replied  Flucker,  assuming  the  compli- 
ment. 

''My  lord,"  said  the  artist,  "you  treat  Art  like  a 
prince  ;  and  she  shall  treat  you  like  a  queen.  When 
the  sun  comes  out  again,  I  will  work  for  you  and  fame. 
You  shall  have  two  things  painted,  every  stroke  loyally 
in  the  sunlight.  In  spite  of  gloomy  winter  and  gloomier 
London,  I  will  try  if  I  can't  hang  nature  and  summer  on 
your  walls  forever.  As  for  me,  you  know  I  must  go  to 
Gerard  Dow  and  Cuyp,  and  Pierre  de  Hoogh,  when  my 
little  sand  is  run ;  but  my  handwriting  shall  warm  your 
children's  children's  hearts,  sir,  when  this  hand  is  dust." 
His  eye  turned  inwards,  he  walked  to  and  fro,  and  his 
companions  died  out  of  his  sight  —  he  was  in  the  king- 
dom of  art. 

His  lordship  and  Jean  entered  the  "Peacock,"  followed 
by  Flucker,  who  merely  lingered  at  the  door  to  moralize 
as  f ollowk  :  — 

1  Balk. 


180  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

"  Hech  !  liech  !  isna  thaat  lamentable  ?  Christie's 
nion's  as  daft  as  a  drunk  weaver." 

But  one  stayed  quietly  behind,  and  assumed  that 
moment  the  office  of  her  life. 

"Ay,"  he  burst  out  again,  "iAe  resources  of  our  art  are 
still  unfathomed !  Pictures  are  yet  to  be  painted  that 
shall  refresh  men's  inner  souls,  and  help  their  hearts 
against  the  artificial  world,  and  charm  the  fiend  away, 
like  David's  harp  !  The  world,  after  centuries  of  lies,  will 
give  nature  and  truth  a  trial.  What  a  paradise  art  will 
be  when  truths,  instead  of  lies,  shall  be  told  on  paper,  on 
marble,  on  canvas,  and  on  the  boards  !  " 

"Dinner's  on  the  boarrd,"  murmured  Christie,  alluding 
to  Lord  Ipsden's  breakfast ;  "  and  I  hae  the  charge  o' 
ye,"  pulling  his  sleeve  hard  enough  to  destroy  the  equi- 
librium of  a  flea. 

"  Then  don't  let  us  waste  our  time  here.     0  Christie  ! " 

"  What  est,  my  laddy  ?  " 

"  I'm  so  preciously  hungry  ! " 

"  C-way  ^  then  !  " 

Off  they  ran,  hand  in  hand,  sparks  of  beauty,  love,  and 
happiness  flying  all  about  them. 

'  Come  away. 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  181 


CHAPTEK   XVII. 

"There  is  nothing  but  meeting  and  parting  in  this 
world ! "  and  you  may  be  sure  the  incongruous  person- 
ages of  our  tale  could  not  long  be  together.  Their  sepa- 
rate paths  had  met  for  an  instant,  in  one  focus,  furnished 
then  and  there  the  matter  of  an  eccentric  story,  and  then 
diverged  forever. 

Our  lives  have  a  general  current,  and  also  an  episode 
or  two ;  and  the  episodes  of  a  common-place  life  are 
often  rather  startling ;  in  like  manner,  this  tale  is  not 
a  specimen,  but  an  episode  of  Lord  Ipsden  and  Lady 
Barbara,  who  soon  after  this  married  and  lived  like  the 
rest  of  the  beau  monde.  In  so  doing,  they  passed  out  of 
my  hands  ;  such  as  wish  to  know  how  viscounts  and 
viscountesses  feed  and  sleep  and  do  the  domestic  (so 
called)  and  the  social  (so  called),  are  referred  to  the 
fashionable  novel.  To  Mr.  Saunders,  for  instance,  who 
has  in  the  press  one  of  those  cerberus-leviathans  of  fic- 
tion, so  common  now  ;  incredible  as  folio  to  future  ages. 
Saunders  will  take  you  by  the  hand,  and  lead  you  over 
carpets  two  inches  thick  —  under  rosy  curtains  —  to 
dinner-tables.  He  will  fete  you,  and  opera  you,  and 
dazzle  your  young  imagination  with  epergnes,  and  sal- 
vers, and  buhl,  and  ormolu.  No  fishwives  or  painters 
shall  intrude  upon  his  polished  scenes  ;  all  shall  be  as 
genteel  as  himself.  Saunders  is  a  good  authority  ;  he  is 
more  in  the  society,  and  far  more  in  the  confidence  of 
the  great,  than  most  fashionable  novelists.  Mr.  Saun- 
ders's work  will  be  in  three  volumes  ;  nine  hundred  and 
ninety  pages  ! 


182  CHUISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

In  otlier  words,  this  single  work,  of  this  ingenious 
writer,  will  equal  in  bulk  the  aggregate  of  all  the  writ- 
ings extant  by  Moses,  David,  Solomon,  Isaiah,  and  St. 
Paul! 

I  shall  not  venture  into  competition  with  this  behe- 
moth of  the  salon  ;  I  will  evaporate  in  thin  generalities. 

Lord  Ipsden,  then,  lived  very  happily  with  Lady  Bar- 
bara, whose  hero  he  straightway  became,  and  who  nobly 
and  poetically  dotes  upon  him.  He  has  gone  into  polit- 
ical life  to  please  her,  and  will  remain  there  —  to  please 
himself.  They  were  both  very  grateful  to  Newhaven  ; 
when  they  married,  they  vowed  to  visit  it  twice  a  year, 
and  mingle  a  fortnight's  simple  life  with  its  simple 
scenes ;  but  four  years  have  passed,  and  they  have 
never  been  there  again,  and  I  dare  say  never  will ; 
but  when  Viscount  Ipsden  falls  in  with  a  brother  aristo- 
crat who  is  crushed  by  the  fiend  ennui,  he  remembers 
Aberford,  and  condenses  his  famous  recipe  into  a  two- 
edged  hexameter,  which  will  make  my  learned  reader 
laugh,  for  it  is  full  of  wisdom  :  — 

"  Diluculo  surgas  !  miseiis  succurrere  discas  ! " 

riucker  Johnstone  meditated  during  breakfast  upon 
the  five  hundred  pounds,  and  regretted  he  had  not,  years 
ago,  adopted  Mr.  Gatty's  profession ;  some  days  after- 
Avards  he  invited  his  sister  to  a  conference.  Chairs  being 
set,  Mr.  Flucker  laid  down  this  observation  —  that  near 
relations  should  be  deuced  careful  not  to  cast  discredit 
upon  one  another ;  that  now  his  sister  was  to  be  a  lady, 
it  was  repugnant  to  his  sense  of  right  to  be  a  fisherman 
and  make  her  ladyship  blush  for  him  ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  felt  it  his  duty  to  rise  to  such  high  consideration  that 
she  should  be  proud  of  him. 

Christie  acquiesced  at  once  in  this  position,  but  pro- 
fessed herself  embarrassed  to  know  how  such  a  "  ne'er- 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  183 

do-weel "  was  to  be  made  a  source  of  pride  ;  then  she 
kissed  Flucker,  and  said,  in  a  tone  somewhat  inconsist- 
ent with  the  above,  "  Tell  me,  my  laamb  !  " 

Her  lamb  informed  her,  that  the  sea  has  many  paths ; 
some  of  them  disgraceful,  such  as  line  or  net  fishing,  and 
the  periodical  laying  down,  on  rocky  shoals,  and  taking 
up  again,  of  lobster-creels ;  others,  superior  to  anything 
the  dry  land  can  offer  in  importance  and  dignity  and 
general  estimation,  such  as  the  command  of  a  merchant- 
vessel  trading  to  the  East  or  West  Indies.  Her  lamb 
then  suggested  that  if  she  would  be  so  good  as  to  launch 
him  in  the  merchant-service,  with  a  good  rig  of  clothes 
and  money  in  his  pocket,  there  was  that  in  his  head 
Avhich  would  enable  him  to  work  to  windward  of  most  of 
his  contemporaries.  He  bade  her  calculate  upon  the 
following  results  :  in  a  year  or  two  he  Avould  be  second 
mate  —  and  next  year,  first  mate  —  and,  in  a  few  years 
more,  skipper !  Think  of  that,  lass !  Skipper  of  a 
vessel,  whose  rig  he  generously  left  his  sister  free  to 
determine  :  premising  that  two  masts  were,  in  his  theory 
of  navigation,  indispensable,  and  that  three  were  a  great 
deal  more  like  Cocker  than  two.  This  led  to  a  gen- 
eral consultation  ;  Flucker's  ambition  was  discussed  and 
praised.  That  modest  young  gentleman,  in  spite  of 
many  injunctions  to  the  contrary,  communicated  his 
sister's  plans  for  him  to  Lord  Ipsden,  and  affected  to 
doubt  their  prudence.  The  bait  took  ;  Lord  Ipsden  wrote 
to  his  man  of  business,  and  an  unexpected  blow  fell  upon 
the  ingenious  Flucker.  He  was  sent  to  school ;  there  to 
learn  a  little  astronomy,  a  little  navigation,  a  little  sea- 
manship, a  little  manners,  etc. ;  in  the  mysteries  of 
reading  and  writing  his  sister  had  already  perfected 
him  by  dint  of  "  the  taws."  This  school  was  a  blow ; 
but  Flucker  was  no  fool :  he  saw  there  was  no  way  of 
getting  from  school  to  sea  without  working.     So  he  liter- 


184  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

ally  worked  out  to  sea.  His  first  voyage  was  distin- 
guished by  the  following  peculiarities :  attempts  to  put 
tricks  upon  this  particular  novice  generally  ended  in  the 
laugh  turning  against  the  experimenters ;  and  instead  of 
drinking  his  grog,  which  he  hates,  he  secreted  it,  and 
sold  it  for  various  advantages.  He  has  been  now  four 
voyages;  when  he  comes  ashore,  instead  of  going  to 
haunts  of  folly  and  vice,  he  instantly  bears  up  for 
his  sister's  house  —  Kensington  Gravel-pits  —  which  he 
makes  in  the  following  manner :  he  goes  up  the  river  — 
Heaven  knows  where  all  —  this  he  calls  running  down 
the  longitude ;  then  he  lands,  and  bears  down  upon  the 
Gravel-pits :  in  particular  knowledge  of  the  names  of 
streets  he  is  deficient,  but  he  knows  the  exact  bearings 
of  Christie's  dwelling.  He  tacks  and  wears  according 
as  masonry  compels  him,  and  he  arrives  at  the  gate.  He 
hails  the  house,  in  a  voice  that  brings  all  the  inhabitants 
of  the  row  to  their  windows,  including  Christie  ;  he  is 
fallen  upon  and  dragged  into  the  house.  The  first  thing 
is,  he  draws  out  from  his  boots,  and  his  back,  and  other 
hiding-places,  China  crape  and  marvellous  silk  handker- 
chiefs for  Christie ;  and  she  takes  from  his  pocket  a  mass 
of  Oriental  sugar-plums,  with  which,  but  for  this  pre- 
caution, she  knows  by  experience  he  would  poison  young 
Charley;  and  soon  he  is  to  be  seen,  sitting  with  his 
hand  in  his  sister's,  and  she  looking  like  a  mother  upon 
his  handsome  weather-beaten  face,  and  Gatty  opposite 
adoring  him  as  a  specimen  of  male  beauty,  and  some- 
times making  furtive  sketches  of  him.  And  then  the 
tales  he  always  brings  with  him  ;  the  house  is  never  very 
dull,  but  it  is  livelier  than  ever  when  this  inexhaustible 
sailor  casts  anchor  in  it. 

The  friends  (chiefly  artists)  who  used  to  leave  at  9.30, 
stay  till  eleven  :  for  an  intelligent  sailor  is  better  com- 
pany than  two  lawyers,  two  bishops,  three  soldiers,  and 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  185 

four  writers  of  plays  and  tales,  all  rolled  together.  And 
still  he  tells  Christie  he  shall  command  a  vessel  some 
day,  and  leads  her  to  the  most  cheering  inferences  from 
the  fact  of  his  prudence  and  his  general  width-awake ; 
in  particular  he  bids  her  contrast  with  him  the  general 
fate  of  sailors,  eaten  up  by  land-sharks,  particularly  of 
the  female  gender,  whom  he  demonstrates  to  be  the 
worst  enemies  poor  Jack  has  ;  he  calls  these  sunken 
rocks,  fire-ships,  and  other  metaphors.  He  concludes 
thus :  "  You  are  all  the  lass  I  mean  to  have,  till  I'm  a 
skipper,  and  then  I'll  bear  up  alongside  some  pretty 
decent  lass,  like  yourself,  Christie,  and  we'll  sail  in 
company  all  our  lives,  let  the  wind  blow  high  or  low." 
Such  is  the  gracious  Flucker  become  in  his  twentieth 
year.  Last  voyage,  with  Christie's  aid,  he  produced  a 
sextant  of  his  own,  and  "  made  it  twelve  o'clock  "  (with 
the  sun's  consent,  I  hope),  and  the  eyes  of  authority  fell 
upon  him.  So  who  knows,  perhaps  he  may  one  day  sail 
a  ship ;  and  if  he  does,  he  will  be  prouder  and  happier 
than  if  we  made  him  monarch  of  the  globe. 

To  return  to  our  chiefs ;  Mrs.  Gatty  gave  her  formal 
consent  to  her  son's  marriage  with  Christie  Johnstone. 

There  were  examples.  Aristocracy  had  ere  now  con- 
descended to  wealth ;  earls  had  married  Avomen  rich  by 
tallow-importing  papas ;  and,  no  doubt,  had  these  same 
earls  been  consulted  in  Gatty's  case,  they  would  have 
decided  that  Christie  Johnstone,  with  her  real  and  funded 
property,  was  not  a  villanous  match  for  a  greengrocer's 
son,  without  a  rapp ;  ^  but  Mrs.  Gatty  did  not  reason  so, 
—  did  not  reason  at  all,  luckily,  her  heart  ran  away  with 
her  judgment,  and  her  judgment  ceasing  to  act,  she 
became  a  wise  woman. 

The  case  was  peculiar.     Gatty  was  an  artist  pur  sang, 

>  A  diminutive  German  coin. 


186  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTOKE. 

—  and  Christie,  who  would  not  have  been  the  wife  for  a 
petit  mattre,  was  the  wife  of  wives  for  him. 

He  wanted  a  beautiful  wife  to  embellish  his  canvas, 
disfigured  hitherto  by  an  injudicious  selection  of  models  ; 
a  virtuous  wife,  to  be  his  crown ;  a  prudent  wife,  to  save 
him  from  ruin ;  a  cheerful  wife,  to  sustain  his  spirits, 
drooping  at  times  by  virtue  of  his  artist's  temperament ; 
an  intellectual  wife,  to  preserve  his  children  from  being 
born  dolts,  and  bred  dunces,  and  to  keep  his  oavu  mind 
from  sharpening  to  one  point,  and  so  contracting  and  be- 
coming monomaniacal :  and  he  found  all  these  qualities, 
together  with  the  sun  and  moon  of  human  existence  — j 
true  love  and  true  religion  —  in  Christie  Johnstone. 

In  similar  cases,  foolish  men  have  set  to  work  to 
make,  in  six  months,  their  diamond  of  nature,  the  exact 
cut  and  gloss  of  other  men's  pastes,  and  nervously  watch- 
ing the  process,  have  suffered  torture ;  luckily  Charles 
Gatty  was  not  wise  enough  for  this ;  he  saw  nature  had 
distinguished  her  he  loved  beyond  her  fellows ;  here,  as 
elsewhere,  he  had  faith  in  nature, — he  believed  that 
Christie  would  charm  everybody  of  eye,  and  ear,  and 
mind,  and  heart,  that  approached  her ;  he  admired  her  as 
she  was,  and  left  her  to  polish  herself,  if  she  chose. 
He  did  well ;  she  came  to  London  with  a  fine  mind,  a 
broad  brogue,  a  delicate  ear;  she  observed  how  her 
husband's  friends  spoke,  and  in  a  very  few  months  she 
had  toned  down  her  Scotch  to  a  rich  Ionic  coloring, 
which  her  womanly  instinct  will  never  let  her  exchange 
for  the  thin  vinegar  accents  that  are  too  prevalent  in 
English  and  French  society ;  and  in  other  respects  she 
caught,  by  easy  gradation,  the  tone  of  the  new  society  to 
which  her  marriage  introduced  her,  without,  however, 
losing  her  charming  self. 

The  wise  dowager  lodges  hard  by,  having  resisted  an 
invitation  to  be  in  the  same  house ;  she  comes  to  that 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  187 

house  to  assist  the  young  wife  with  her  experience,  and 
to  be  welcome,  —  not  to  interfere  every  minute,  and  tease 
her ;  she  loves  her  daughter-in-law  almost  as  much  as 
she  does  her  son,  and  she  is  happy  because  he  bids  fair 
to  be  an  immortal  painter,  and  above  all,  a  gentleman ; 
and  she  a  wifely  Avife,  a  motherly  mother,  and  above  all, 
a  lady. 

This,  then,  is  a  happy  couple.  Their  life  is  full  of 
purpose  and  industry,  yet  lightened  by  gayety ;  they  go 
to  operas,  theatres,  and  balls,  for  they  are  young.  They 
have  plenty  of  society,  real  society,  not  the  ill-assorted 
collection  of  a  predetermined  number  of  bodies,  that 
blindly  assumes  that  name,  but  the  rich  communication 
of  various  and  fertile  minds ;  they  very,  very  seldom 
consent  to  squat  four  mortal  hours  on  one  chair  (like  old 
hares  stiffening  in  their  hot  forms),  and  nibbling,  sipping, 
and  twaddling,  in  four  mortal  hours,  Avhat  could  have 
been  eaten,  drunken,  and  said,  in  thirty-five  minutes. 
They  are  both  artists  at  heart,  and  it  shocks  their  natures 
to  see  folks  mix  so  very  largely  the  inutile  with  the 
insipidum,  and  waste  at  one  huge  but  barren  incubation, 
the  soul,  and  the  stomach,  and  the  irrevocable  hours, 
things  with  which  so  much  is  to  be  done.  But  they 
have  many  desirable  acquaintances,  and  not  a  few  friends ; 
the  latter  are  mostly  lovers  of  truth  in  their  several 
departments,  and  in  all  things  :  among  them  are  painters, 
sculptors,  engineers,  writers,  conversers,  thinkers ;  these 
acknowledging,  even  in  England,  other  gods  besides  the 
intestines,  meet  often  chez  Gatty,  chiefly  for  mental  in- 
tercourse ;  a  cup  of  tea  with  such  is  found,  by  experience, 
to  be  better  than  a  stalled  elk  where  chit-chat  reigns 
over  the  prostrate  hours. 

This,  then,  is  a  happy  couple ;  the  very  pigeons  and 
the  crows  need  not  blush  for  the  nest  at  Kensington 
Gravel-pits.    There  the  divine  institution,  marriage,  takes 


188  CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 

its  natural  colors,  and  it  is  at  once  pleasant  and  good 
to  catch  such  glimpses  of  Heaven's  design,  and  sad  to 
think  how  often  this  great  boon,  accorded  by  God  to  man 
and  woman,  must  have  been  abused  and  perverted,  ere  it 
could  have  sunk  to  be  the  standing  butt  of  farce-writers, 
and  the  theme  of  weekly  punsters. 

In  this  pair  we  see  the  wonders  a  male  and  female 
can  do  for  each  other  in  the  sweet  bond  of  holy  wedlock. 
In  that  blessed  relation  alone  two  interests  are  really 
one,  and  two  hearts  lie  safe  at  anchor  side  by  side. 

Christie  and  Charles  are  friends,  —  for  they  are  man 
and  wife. 

Christie  and  Charles  are  lovers  still,  —  for  they  are 
man  and  wife. 

Christie  and  Charles  are  one  forever,  —  for  they  are 
man  and  wife. 

This  wife  brightens  the  house  from  kitchen  to  garret, 
for  her  husband  ;  this  husband  works  like  a  king  for  his 
wife's  comfort  and  for  his  own  fame,  —  and  that  fame  is 
his  wife's  glory.  When  one  of  these  expresses  or  hints 
a  wish,  the  other's  first  impulse  is  to  find  the  means,  not 
the  objections. 

They  share  all  troubles,  and  by  sharing,  halve  them. 

They  share  all  pleasures,  and  by  sharing  double  them. 

They  climb  the  hill  together  now,  and  many  a  canty 
day  they  shall  have  with  one  another  ;  and  when,  by  the 
inevitable  law,  they  begin  to  descend  towards  the  dark 
valley,  they  will  still  go  hand  in  hand,  smiling  so  ten- 
derly, and  supporting  each  other  with  a  care  more  lovely 
than  when  the  arm  was  strong  and  the  foot  firm. 

On  these  two  temperate  lives  old  age  will  descend 
lightly,  gradually,  gently,  and  late, — and  late  upon 
these  evergreen  hearts,  because  they  are  not  tuned  to 
some  selfish,  isolated  key  ;  these  hearts  beat  and  ring 
with  the  young  hearts  of  their  dear  children,  and  years 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE.  189 

hence  papa  and  mamma  will  begin  life  hopefully,  wish- 
fully, warmly  again  with  each  loved  Bovice  in  turn. 

And  when  old  age  does  come,  it  will  be  no  calamity  to 
these,  as  it  is  to  you,  poor  battered  beau,  laughed  at  by 
the  fair  ninnies  who  erst  laughed  with  you;  to  you,  poor 
follower  of  salmon,  fox,  and  pheasant,  whose  joints  are 
stiffening,  whose  nerve  is  gone,  —  whose  Golgotha  re- 
mains ;  to  you,  poor  faded  beauty,  who  have  staked  all 
upon  man's  appetite,  and  not  accumulated  goodness  or 
sense  for  your  second  course ;  to  you,  poor  drawing-room 
wit,  whose  sarcasm  has  turned  to  venom,  and  is  turning 
to  drivel. 

What  terrors  has  old  age  for  this  happy  pair  ?  it  can- 
not make  them  ugly,  for  though  the  purple  light  of  youth 
recedes,  a  new  kind  of  tranquil  beauty,  the  aloe-blossom 
of  many  years  of  innocence,  comes  to,  and  sits  like  a 
dove  upon  the  aged  faces,  where  goodness,  sympathy, 
and  intelligence  have  harbored  together  so  long ;  and 
where  evil  passions  have  flitted  (for  we  are  all  human), 
but  found  no  resting-place. 

Old  age  is  no  calamity  to  them :  it  cannot  terrify 
them  :  for  ere  they  had  been  married  a  week  the  woman 
taught  the  man,  lover  of  truth,  to  search  for  the  highest 
and  greatest  truths,  in  a  book  written  for  men's  souls, 
by  the  Author  of  the  world,  the  sea,  the  stars,  the  sun, 
the  soul ;  and  this  book,  Dei  gratia,  will,  as  the  good 
bishop  sings,  — 

"  Teach  them  to  live,  that  they  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  their  bed." 

It  cannot  make  them  sad,  for  ere  it  comes,  loved  souls 
will  have  gone  from  earth,  and  from  their  tender  bosom, 
but  not  from  their  memories ;  and  will  seem  to  beckon 
them  now  across  the  cold  valley  to  the  golden  land. 

It  cannot  make  them  sad,  for  on  earth  the  happiest 


190  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 

must  drink  a  sorrowful  cup  more  than  once  in  a  long 
life,  and  so  their  brightest  hopes  will  have  come  to  dwell 
habitually  on  things  beyond  the  grave ;  and  the  great 
painter,  jam  senex,  will  chiefly  meditate  upon  a  richer 
landscape,  and  brighter  figures  than  human  hand  has 
ever  painted;  a  scene  whose  glories  he  can  see  from 
hence  but  by  glimpses,  and  through  a  glass  darkly ;  the 
great  meadows  on  the  other  side  of  Jordan,  which  are 
bright  with  the  spirits  of  the  just  that  walk  there,  and 
are  warmed  with  an  eternal  sun,  and  ring  with  the  tri- 
umph of  the  humble  and  the  true,  and  the  praises  of 
God  forever. 


NOTE. 


This  story  was  written  three  years  ago,  and  one  or 
two  topics  in  it  are  not  treated  exactly  as  they  would  be 
if  written  by  the  same  hand  to-day.  But  if  the  author 
had  retouched  those  pages  with  his  colors  of  1853,  he 
would  (he  thinks)  have  destroyed  tne  only  merit  they 
have,  viz.,  that  of  containing  genuine  contemporaneous 
verdicts  upon  a  cant  that  was  flourishing  like  a  peony, 
and  a  truth  that  was  struggling  for  bare  life,  in  the  year 
of  truth  1850. 

He  prefers  to  deal  fairly  with  the  public,  and,  with 
this  explanation  and  apology,  to  lay  at  its  feet  a  faulty 
but  genuine  piece  of  work. 


SINGLEHEART   AND    DOUBLEFACE. 


CHAPTER   I. 


Matthew  Brext,  a  small  shopkeeper  in  Green  Street, 
Liverpool,  was  a  widower  with  two  daughters.  Deborah, 
the  elder,  had  plenty  of  tongue  and  mother-wit,  but 
could  not  and  would  not  study  anything  on  earth  if  it 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  written  or  printed.  Sarah,  the 
younger,  showed  attention  and  application  from  her 
childhood. 

Her  father  cultivated  those  powers,  for  they  are  the 
roots  of  all  excellence,  and  he  knew  it.  He  sent  the 
girl  to  school,  and  there  she  learned  the  usual  smatter- 
ing ;  and  one  thing  worth  it  all,  viz.,  how  to  teach  her- 
self. Under  that  abler  tuition  she  learned  to  write  like 
a  clerk,  to  keep  her  father's  books,  to  remember  the 
price  of  every  article  in  the  shop,  to  serve  the  customers 
when  required,  and  to  read  for  her  own  pleasure  and 
instruction.  At  eighteen  she  was  Brent's  right  hand  all 
day,  and  his  reader  at  night. 

Deborah,  who  could  only  spell  The  Mercury,  and 
would  not  do  that  if  she  could  get  Sally  to  read  it  out, 
found  her  level  as  cook,  housekeeper,  and  marketwoman. 
At  twenty  she  was  very  tall,  supple,  and  muscular ; 
comely,  but  freckled,  reddish  hair,  a  very  white  skin, 
only  it  tanned  easily.     It  rev^ealed  its  natural  beauty  in 

Vol.  9—13 


4  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

her  throat,  and  above  all  in  the  nape  of  her  neck.  This 
nape,  snowy  and  solid,  and  a  long  row  of  ivory  teeth, 
were  her  beauties.  She  married  quite  young,  her 
father's  cousin,  a  small  farmer,  and  settled  in  Berkshire, 
her  native  county. 

Sarah  Brent  was  about  two  inches  shorter  than 
Deborah,  but  a  finer  figure ;  had  an  oval  face  full  of 
modesty  and  gentle  dignity.  Her  skin  was  also  white, 
and  revealed  itself  in  her  shapely  hands  as  well  as  her 
alabaster  throat.  Her  hair  was  brown,  and  so  were  two 
fearless  eyes  that  looked  at  people  full  without  staring. 
When  she  was  nineteen,  a  worthy  young  fellow,  called 
Joseph  Pinder,  fell  in  love  with  her  and  courted  her. 
He  was  sheepish  and  distant  in  his  approaches,  for  he 
looked  on  her  as  a  superior  being.  She  never  chattered, 
yet  could  always  answer  civilly  and  wisely ;  this,  and 
her  Madonna-like  face,  made  Joe  Pinder  reverence  her. 
Her  father  thought  highly  of  him,  and  connived  at  his 
visits,  and  so  they  were  often  seen  together  in  a  friendly 
way ;  but  when  he  began  to  make  downright  love  to  her, 
she  told  him  calmly  she  could  go  no  farther  than  friend- 
ship. "  And  indeed,"  said  she,  "  I  would  never  leave  my 
father  for  any  young  man." 

Joseph  Pinder  knew  that  this  declaration  has  often 
preceded  connubial  rites,  and  continued  his  friendly 
assiduities  ;  and  these  two  often  came  back  from  church 
together,  he  glowing  with  delight  at  being  near  her,  and 
she  cool  and  friendly. 

The  Brents  were  in  a  small  way  of  business,  and 
Sarah's  adorer  was  a  decorative  painter,  and  what  is 
called  in  the  trade  a  "writer"  —  one  of  those  astounding 
artists  who  by  skilful  shading  make  gilt  letters  appear 
concave,  or  convex,  or  stand  out  bodily  from  a  board  or 
wall,  and  blazon  a  shopkeeper's  name  and  business.  On 
one  occasion  he  had  a  large  job  of  this  sort  to  do  in 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  5 

Manchester.  It  took  him  a  fortnight,  and  led  to  another 
at  Preston.  In  a  month  he  came  back  with  money  in 
both  pockets,  and  full  of  joy  at  the  prospect  of  meeting 
Sarah  again. 

He  found  the  Brents  at  supper,  and  there  Avas  a  young 
man  with  them  who  had  a  deal  to  say,  and  made  the  old 
man  smile,  while  the  young  woman  often  looked  fur- 
tively at  him  with  undisguised  complacency.  This  was 
a  second  cousin  of  Mr.  Brent's,  one  James  Mansell,  a 
painter  and  grainer,  who  had  settled  in  the  town  while 
Finder  was  away. 

Finder's  heart  sank  at  this,  and  instead  of  exerting 
himself  in  vigorous  competition,  he  became  more  silent 
and  more  depressed  the  more  James  Mansell  rattled 
away ;  in  short,  he  was  no  company  at  all,  because  the 
other  was  good  company. 

After  awhile  he  said  "  Good-night." 

A  coquette  would  have  followed  him  to  the  door  and 
smoothed  matters  ;  but  that  was  not  Sarah  Brent's  line  ; 
she  said  "  good-night "  kindly  enough,  but  she  never 
moved,  and  James  JMansell's  tongue  resumed  its  head- 
long course. 

This  was  the  first  of  many  such  scenes.  Sarah  was 
always  kind,  but  cool,  to  her  old  admirer,  and  manifestly 
attracted  by  the  new  one.  Indeed,  it  came  to  this  at 
last,  that  Finder  could  never  get  a  walk  with  her  alone 
except  from  church. 

On  one  occasion  he  ventured  on  a  mild  remonstrance  : 
"  If  you  had  not  told  me  you  would  never  leave  your 
father,  I  should  be  almost  afraid  that  James  Mansell 
would  entice  you  away  from  us  all." 

"  From  everybody  else  ;  but  not  from  father." 

One  would  think  that  was  plain  enough,  but  Joe  could 
not  realize  it,  and  he  went  on  to  ask  her  if  she  could 
really  find  it  in  her  heart  to  throw  such  an  old  friend  as 
him  over  for  a  stranger. 


6  SINGLEHEART   AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

She  replied,  calmly  :  "  Am  I  changed  to  you  any  way  ? 
I  always  respected  you,  and  I  respect  you  still." 

"  That  is  a  comfort,  Sarah.  But  if  this  goes  on,  I'm 
afraid  you  will  like  another  man  far  better  than  me, 
whether  you  respect  nic  or  not.*' 

"  That  is  my  business,"  said  she,  firmly. 

'•'  Isn't  it  mine,  too,  Sarah  ?  We  have  kept  company 
this  two  years." 

"  As  friends  ;  but  nothing  more.  I  have  never  misled 
you,  but  now  if  you  are  wise  you  will  take  up  with  some 
other  girl.     You  can  find  as  good  as  me." 

"  Not  in  this  world." 

"  Nonsense,  Joe  ;  and  besides  "  — 

"  Well,  what  ?  " 

"  I  am  one  that  forecasts  a  little,  and  I  am  afraid  you 
will  tease  me,  and  pain  yourself,  and  some  day  we  shall 
part  bad  friends,  and  that  Avould  be  a  pity  after  all." 

'^  Nothing  but  death  shall  part  us." 

"  Yes,  this  door  will.  Father  is  not  well  to-night." 
The  door  in  question  was  the  side  door  of  her  own  house. 

Pinder  took  the  hint,  and  bade  her  "good-night"  affec- 
tionately. 

He  walked  a  little  way  out  into  the  country  by  him- 
self, wondering  now  whether  she  would  ever  be  his.  He 
was  dejected,  but  not  in  despair.  In  his  class  of  life 
men  and  women  have,  often  two  or  three  warmish  court- 
ships before  they  marry.  Sarah  was  not  of  that  sort, 
but  this  James  Mansell  would  be  as  likely  as  not  to 
leave  the  town,  and  think  no  more  of  Sarah  Brent.  In 
his  trade  it  was  here  to-day  and  there  to-morrow,  and  he 
did  not  look  like  the  man  to  cling  to  the  absent. 

Pinder  returned  home  by  Green  Street  to  have  a  last 
look  at  the  shell  which  held  his  pearl.  As  he  passed  by 
on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  James  Mansell  came  and 
knocked  at  Mr.  Brent's  side  door.     Pinder  waited  with  a 


SINGLEHEART    AND    DODBLEFACE.  7 

certain  degree  of  jealous  malice  to  see  him  excluded. 
Sarah  came  to  the  door  and  parleyed ;  probably  she  told 
him  her  father  was  unwell.  Pinder  went  on  a  little  way, 
and  then  turned  to  see. 

The  colloquy  continued.  It  seemed  interminable.  The 
woman  he  loved  was  in  no  hurry  now  to  get  back  to  her 
sick  father,  and  when  she  did,  what  was  the  result  ? 
Mansell  was  invited  in,  after  all,  and  the  door  of  heaven 
closed  upon  him  instead  of  in  his  face. 

The  watcher  stood  there  transfixed  with  the  poisoned 
arrow  of  jealousy.  He  was  sick  and  furious  by  turns, 
and  at  last  got  frightened  at  himself,  and  resolved  to 
keep  out  of  the  way  of  this  James  Mansell,  with  whom 
he  had  no  chance,  Sarah's  preference  was  now  so  clear. 

But  he  was  too  much  in  love  to  forego  the  walks  from 
church ;  and  Sarah  never  objected  to  his  company,  nor, 
indeed,  to  his  coming  in  to  supper  afterward.  But  he 
was  sure  to  find  his  rival  there  and  be  reduced  to  a 
sullen  cipher. 

So  things  went  on.  He  did  not  see  what  passed  be- 
tween Mansell  and  Sarah  Brent,  the  open  wooing  of  the 
man,  the  timid  tumult  in  the  woman,  expanding,  ripen- 
ing, blushing,  thrilling,  and  blooming  in  the  new  sun- 
shine. But  he  discovered  a  good  deal :  she  seemed 
gliding  gradually  away  from  him  down  a  gentle  but  in- 
exorable slope.  She  was  as  friendly  in  her  cool  way  as 
ever,  but  scarcely  attended  to  him.  Her  mind  seemed 
elsewhere  at  times,  even  in  that  short  walk  from  church, 
sole  relic  now  of  their  languid  but  unbroken  friendship. 

The  time  came  when  even  this  privilege  was  disputed. 
One  Sunday  James  Mansell  arrived  in  Green  Street  ear- 
lier than  usual.  He  heard  where  Sarah  was,  so  he  came 
to  meet  her.  She  was  walking  with  Pinder.  Mansell 
had  been  drinking  a  little,  and  did  not  know  perhaps 
how  little  cause  he  had  for  jealousy.    He  stepped  rudely 


8  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

in  between  Pinder  and  Miss  Brent,  and  took  her  arm, 
whereas  Pinder  had  been  walking  merely  by  her  side. 

"  What  sort  of  manners  are  these  ?  "  said  Pinder. 

"They  are  my  manners,"  said  the  other  haughtily. 
"She  has  no  business  to  walk  with  3'ou  at  all." 

"  Don't  insult  her,  at  all  events.  She  has  walked  with 
me  this  two  year." 

"  Well,  then,  now  you  go  and  walk  with  some  other 
girl." 

"  Not  at  your  bidding,  you  brute." 

"  Oh,  you  want  a  hiding,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No :  it  is  you  that  want  that." 

James  Mansell  replied  by  a  blow,  which  took  Pinder 
unawares,  and  sent  him  staggering. 

He  would  have  followed  it  up,  but  Pinder  stopped  the 
second  neatly,  and  gave  him  a  smart  one  in  return,  cry- 
ing "Coward!  to  take  a  man  unawares."  Sarah  was 
terrified,  and  clasped  her  hands.  "  Oh,  pray  do  not 
quarrel  about  me  !  " 

"  Stand  aloof,"  said  Mansell  imperiously ;  "  this  must 
end."  Sarah  obeyed  the  man,  who  was  evidently  her 
master,  but  implored  him  not  to  hurt  Joe  Pinder :  he 
was  only  a  friend.  The  truth  is,  Mansell  had  recounted 
such  deeds  of  prowess  that,  what  with  his  gasconades 
and  her  blind  love,  she  thought  no  man  could  have  a 
chance  with  him. 

He  sparred  well,  and  hit  Pinder  several  times,  but 
rather  short. 

Both  were  soon  infuriated,  and  they  were  all  over  the 
street,  fighting  and  raging. 

Under  similar  circumstances  Virgil's  heifer  browsed 
the  grass  in  undisturbed  tranquillity,  content  to  know 
that  her  mate  would  be  the  best  bull  of  the  two. 

Not  so  Sarah  Brent.  She  clasped  her  hands  and 
screamed,  and  implored  her  hero  to  be  merciful.     Her 


SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  9 

conscience  whispered  that  her  inoffensive  friend  was 
being  hardly  used  in  every  way. 

Presently  her  hero,  after  administering  several  blows, 
and  making  his  adversary  bleed,  received  a  left-handed 
stinger  that  made  him  recoil.  Maddened  by  this,  he 
rushed  at  Pinder  to  annihilate  him.  But  Pinder  was  no 
novice  either:  he  drew  back  on  the  point  of  his  toe, 
and  met  James  Man  sell's  rush  with  a  tremendous  slog- 
ger  that  sounded  like  a  falling  plank,  and  shot  him  to 
the  earth  at  Sarah  Bi*ent's  very  feet,  a  distance  of  some 
yards. 

All  was  changed  in  a  moment :  she  literally  bounded 
over  the  prostrate  form,  and  stood  between  him  and 
danger ;  for  in  Liverpool  they  fight  up  and  down,  as  the 
saying  is.  "  You  wretch ! "  she  cried,  "  to  kill  the  man 
I  love."  It  was  Pinder's  turn  to  stagger  before  that 
white  cheek,  and  those  fiery  eyes,  and  that  fatal  word. 

"  Man  you  love  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  love  !  I  love  !  I  love  ! "  cried  she,  stabbing  with 
swift  feminine  instinct  the  monster  who  had  struck  her 
love. 

Then  Pinder  fell  back,  subdued,  with  a  sigh  of  despair; 
she  flung  herself  down,  and  raised  James  Mansell's  head 
and  sobbed  hysterically  over  it. 

Some  people  now  came  up ;  but  Pinder  in  those  few 
seconds  had  undergone  a  change.  He  stepped  forward, 
thrust  the  people  away,  and,  kneeling  down,  lifted  James 
Mansell  up  and  took  him  under  his  arm.  "  Leave  him 
to  me,  Sarah,"  said  he. 

"  To  you  ?  "  she  sobbed. 

"  Ay  :  do  you  think  I  shall  ever  hurt  him  again,  now 
you  have  told  me  you  love  him  ?  "  And  he  said  it  so 
finely  she  knew  he  meant  it.  Then  he  sent  to  the  mar- 
ket public-house  for  a  sponge  and  some  brandy,  and 
meantime  Mansell,  who  was  tough,  came  to  of  himself  j 


10  SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

but  the  water  and  l)randy  completed  his  restoration  to 
society.  It  was  Pinder  who  sponged  his  face  and  nos- 
trils, and  took  him  to  Brent's  house,  Sarah  hovering 
near  all  the  time  like  a  hen  over  her  chickens.  She 
whipped  into  the  house  with  her  pass-key,  and  received 
her  favorite  at  the  door,  then  closed  it  gently,  but  de- 
cidedly; not  that  Joe  Pinder  would  have  come  in  if  she 
had  asked  him.  He  did  not  even  trust  himself  to  say 
"  good-night."  It  was  all  over  between  him  and  her, 
and  of  course  he  knew  it. 

When  she  had  got  James  Mansell  safe  she  made  him 
lie  down  on  the  little  sofa,  and  sat  at  his  head,  applying 
cool  linen  rags  to  his  swollen  cheeks  and  a  cut  upon  his 
forehead  due  to  Pinder's  knuckles. 

Presently  her  father  came  in  from  visiting  a  sick 
friend,  and  at  sight  of  this  group  asked  what  was  to  do. 

"It  is  tliat  cruel  Joe  Pinder  been  beating  him,  father: 
I  thought  he  had  killed  him." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

Sarah  blushed  and  was  silent :  she  wouldn't  own  that 
James  was  the  aggressor,  and  yet  she  wouldn't  tell  a 
falsehood. 

"  Joe  Pinder  ! ''  said  the  old  man.  "  He  was  never 
quarrelsome  :  there's  not  a  better-hearted  young  man  in 
the  town,  nor  a  more  respectable.  Now  you  tell  me 
what  was  the  quarrel  about  ?  " 

"  0  father  !  "  said  Sarah  deprecatingly. 

"Ay  !  ay"!  I  needn't  ask,"  said  the  old  man.  "  It  was 
about  a  woman,  eh  ?  You  might  have  been  better  em- 
ployed, all  three,  this  Sabbath  evening." 

"  Well,  sir,  Sarah  was  only  coming  home  from  church 
this  Sabbath  evening,"  said  Mansell ;  "  but  as  for  me,  I 
was  as  much  to  blame  as  the  other,  so  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it."  Sarah  whispered,  "  You  are  very  generous." 
The  subject  dropped  till  the  old  man  retired  to  rest,  and 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  11 

then  James  Mansell,  who  had  been  brooding,  delivered 
himself  thus :  *'  He  is  not  half  a  bad  sort,  that  Joe 
Pinder.  But  he  is  one  too  many  for  me,  or  I  am  one  too 
many  for  him,  so  you  must  make  up  your  mind  this 
night  which  is  to  be  your  husband,  and  give  the  other 
the  sack." 

This  was  virile,  and  entitled  to  a  feminine  reply.  It 
came  immediately  in  what,  perhaps,  if  we  could  know 
the  truth,  is  a  formula :  not  a  word,  not  even  a  syllable, 
but  a  white  wrist  passed  round  the  neck,  and  a  fair  head 
deposited  like  down  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  conqiieror. 

Joseph  Pinder  grieved  and  watched,  but  troubled  the 
lovers  no  more.  James  Mansell  pressed  Sarah  to  name 
the  day.  She  objected.  Her  father's  health  was  break- 
ing, and  she  would  not  leave  him.  Mansell  urged  her : 
she  stood  firm.  He  accused  her  of  not  loving  him :  she 
sighed  and  wondered  he  could  say  that,  but  was  immov- 
able. 

By  and  by  it  all  came  to  her  father's  ears.  He  sent 
for  a  lawyer  directly,  and  made  the  shop  and  house  over 
to  Sarah  by  deed  of  gift.  Then  he  told  her  she  need  not 
wait  for  his  death ;  he  would  prefer  to  see  her  happy 
with  the  man  of  her  choice,  and  also  to  advise  her  in 
business  for  the  little  while  he  had  to  live. 

So  the  banns  were  cried,  and  Joseph  Pinder  heard  in 
silence ;  and  in  due  course  James  Mansell  was  united  to 
Sarah  Brent  in  holy  matrimony. 

In  its  humble  way  this  was  a  promising  union.  The 
man  was  twenty-seven,  the  woman  twenty,  and  thought- 
ful beyond  her  years.  They  had  health  and  love  and 
occupation ;  moreover,  the  man's  work  took  him  out  of 
the  woman's  way,  except  at  meals,  and  in  the  evening. 
Now  nothing  sweetens  married  life,  and  divests  it  of 
monotony  and  ennui,  more  than  these  daily  partings  and 
meetings.    Mansell  had  three  trades,  and  in  one  of  them, 


12  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

graining,  he  might  be  called  an  artist.  He  could  imi- 
tate the  common  woods  better  than  almost  anybody ;  but 
at  satin-wood,  mahogany,  and  American  birch,  he  was 
really  wonderful.  Sarah  was  a  first-rate  shop-woman, 
civil,  prompt,  obliging,  and  handsome,  —  qualities  that 
all  attract  in  business.  She  gave  no  credit  beyond  a 
week,  and  took  none  at  all. 

In  any  class  of  life  it  is  a  fine  thing  when  both 
spouses  can  contribute  a  share  to  the  joint  income. 
This  is  one  of  the  boons  found  oftenest  among  the 
middle  classes.  Most  laborers'  wives  can  only  keep 
house,  and  few  gentlemen's  wives  can  earn  a  penny. 

The  Mansells,  then,  upon  a  large  and  wide  survey  of 
life,  were  in  a  happy  condition  —  happier  far  than  any 
pair  who  do  not  earn  their  living. 

One  day  a  great  sorrow  came,  but  not  unexpectedly. 
Matthew  Brent  died  peacefully,  blessing  his  daughters 
and  his  son-in-law. 

The  next  day  came  a  joyful  event :  Sarah's  child  was 
born  —  a  lovely  girl. 

Mighty  nature  comforted  the  bereaved  daughter,  and 
soon  the  home  was  as  cheerful  as  ever. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  till  the  third  year  of  her  marriage 
that  a  cloud  appeared,  and  that  seemed  a  small  one,  no 
bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 

James  Mansell  began  to  come  home  Saturday  night 
instead  of  Saturday  afternoon ;  and  the  reason  was 
clear,  he  smelt  of  liquor,  and  though  always  sober,  his 
speech  was  thick  on  these  occasions. 

Sarah,  who  had  forecasts,  Avas  alarmed,  and  spoke  in 
time.  She  remembered  something  her  father,  an  observ- 
ant man,  had  said  to  her  in  his  day  ;  viz.,  that  your  clever 
specimens  of  the  class  which  may  be  called  artist- 
mechanics  are  often  addicted  to  liquor. 

However,  this  prudent  woman  thought  it  best  not  to 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  13 

raise  an  argument  about  drink ;  she  merely  represented 
to  her  husband  that  there  was  now  a  run  upon  her  shop 
Saturday  afternoon  and  evening,  and  really  it  was  more 
than  she  could  manage  without  his  assistance  ;  would  he 
be  so  good  as  to  help  her  ?  He  assisted  readily  enough, 
and  then  the  Saturday  afternoons  became  her  happiest 
time.  He  himself  seemed  to  enjoy  the  business  and 
the  bustle  and  his  Avife's  company. 

But  by  and  by  he  came  home  very  late  on  Monday, 
with  the  usual  signs  of  a  drop  ;  then  she  advised  him 
and  entreated  him,  but  never  scolded  him.  He  acqui- 
esced and  was  perfectly  good-tempered,  though  in  the 
wrong.  But  one  day  in  the  week  he  would  come  home 
late,  and  mumble  what  is  called  the  Queen's  English,  but 
I  believe  the  people  hold  a  few  shares  in  it.  Sarah  was 
disappointed,  and  a  little  alarmed,  but  began  to  hope  it 
would  go  no  farther  at  all  events.  However,  one  Satur- 
day, if  you  please,  he  did  not  come  to  help  her  in  the 
shop,  did  not  even  come  home  to  supper,  and  she  had 
made  such  a  nice  supper  for  him.  She  sat  at  the 
window  and  fretted,  she  went  from  the  window  to  her 
sleeping  child  and  back  again,  restless  and  apprehensive. 

At  midnight,  when  the  whole  street  was  still,  foot- 
steps rang  on  the  pavement.  She  looked  out  and  saw 
two  men,  each  with  an  arm  under  the  shoulder  of  a 
third,  hoisting  him  along.  She  darted  to  the  street-door, 
and  received  her  husband  from  the  hands  of  two  men, 
who  were  perfectly  sober.  One  of  them  turned  on  his 
heel  and  walked  swiftly  away  at  sight  of  her.  But  she 
saw  him  —  for  the  first  time  this  three  years. 

It  was  Joseph  Finder. 


14  SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Mb.  Mansell  began  his  bibulous  career  with  a  redeem- 
ing quality  more  common  in  Russia  than  in  England  — 
good-natured  in  his  cups.  He  chuckled  feebly,  and 
opposed  the  inertia  of  matter  only,  whilst  the  dismayed 
wife  pulled  him  and  pushed  him,  and  at  last  got  him 
down  on  a  little  sofa  in  the  shop-parlor.  Then  she 
whipped  off  his  necktie,  and  washed  his  face  in  diluted 
lavender-water,  and  put  her  salts  to  his  nose.  Being 
now  on  his  back,  he  soon  went  to  sleep  and  breathed 
sonorously  whilst  she  sat  in  her  father's  arm-chair  and 
watched  him  bitterly  and  sadly. 

At  first  his  hard  breathing  alarmed  her,  and  she  sat 
waiting  to  avert  apoplexy. 

But  toward  morning  sleep  overcame  her.  Then  day- 
light coming  in  with  a  shoot  awakened  her,  and  she 
looked  round  on  the  scene.  The  room  in  disorder,  her 
husband  sleeping  off  his  liquor,  she  in  her  father's  arm- 
chair, not  the  connubial  bed. 

Her  first  thought  was,  "  Oh,  if  father  could  see  us  now 
this  Sabbath  morn  I  "  She  got  up  sadly,  and  lighted 
fires ;  then  went  up-stairs,  washed  and  dressed  the  little 
girl,  and  made  her  lisp  a  prayer.  Then,  not  choosing 
the  daughter  to  see  the  father  in  his  present  condition, 
she  went  down  and  waked  him,  and  made  him  wash  his 
face  and  tidy  himself.  He  asked  for  brandy ;  she  looked 
him  in  the  face  and  said,  "  No,  not  one  drop."  But  he 
was  ill  and  coaxed  her.  She  gave  him  a  tablespoon ful, 
and  then  ground  some  coffee  and  gave  him  a  cup  hot  and 
strong. 


SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  l5 

She  was  not  a  hasty  woman  ;  she  showed  him  a  face 
grave  and  sad,  but  she  did  not  tell  him  her  mind.  So 
then  he  opened  the  subject  himself. 

"  This  will  be  a  warning  to  me." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  she  gravely. 

"  Can't  think  how  I  came  to  be  overcome  like  that." 

"  By  putting  yourself  in  the  way  of  it.  If  you  had 
been  helping  me  at  the  shop,  that  needed  your  help,  it 
would  have  been  better  for  you,  and  for  me  too." 

"  Well,  I  will  after  this.     It  is  a  warning." 

She  began  to  relent.  "  Well,  James,  if  you  take  it  to 
heart,  I  will  not  be  too  hard,  for  where  is  the  sense  of 
nagging  at  a  man  when  he  owns  his  fault  ?  But  oh, 
James,  I  am  so  mortified !  Who  do  you  think  brought 
you  home  ? "  He  tried  to  remember,  but  could  not. 
"  Well,  one  of  them  was  the  last  man  in  Liverpool  I 
would  have  to  see  you  let  yourself  down  so.  It  was  Joe 
Pinder." 

"  I  never  noticed  him.     What,  was  he  tight  too  ?  " 

"  No ;  if  he  had  been,  I  wouldn't  have  minded  so 
much.     He  was  sober,  and  you  were  "  — 

The  man  did  not  seize  the  woman's  sentiment.  He 
said  carelessly,  ''Oh,  'twas  he  brought  me  safe  home, 
was  it  ?     He  is  not  half  a  bad  sort,  then." 

Sarah  stared  at  this  plain  straightforward  view  of  her 
old  lover's  conduct.  She  had  a  greater  desire  to  be  just 
than  most  women  have,  but  she  labored  under  feminine 
disabilities.  She  was  silent,  and  weighed  jMansell's 
view  of  the  matter,  but  came  back  to  her  own,  ''  I  do 
hope,"  said  she,  ''  you  will  never  be  so  overtook  again  — 
think  of  your  child  —  but  if  you  are,  oh !  pray  don't 
come  home  on  that  man's  arm.  I'd  crawl  home  on  all 
fours  sooner,  if  I  was  you." 

"  All  right,"  said  he  vaguely.  Then  she  took  this 
opportunity  to  beg  him  to  go  to  church  with  her  that 


16  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

morning.  Hitherto  he  had  always  declined,  hut  now  he 
consented  almost  eagerly.  He  clutched  at  a  compro- 
mise. He  said,  "Sally,  them  that  sin  must  suffer." 
The  fact  is,  he  expected  to  hear  his  conduct  denounced 
from  the  pulpit.  Catch  the  pulpit  doing  anything  of 
the  kind !  The  pulpit  is  not  practical,  and  meddles 
littlo  with  immorality  as  it  is,  and  rarely  gives  ten  con- 
secutive minutes  to  that  particular  vice  which  overruns 
the  land.  James  Mansell  sat  under  a  drizzle  of  thin 
generalities,  and  came  home  complacent. 

His  wife  was  pleased  with  him,  and  still  more  when 
he  took  her  and  Lucy  for  a  walk  in  the  evening,  and 
they  carried  the  child  by  turns. 

After  this  the  man  kept  within  bounds  ;  he  soaked, 
bvit  could  always  walk  home.  To  be  sure,  he  began  to 
diffuse  moderate  inebriety  over  the  whole  week.  This 
caused  the  good  wife  great  distress  of  mind,  and  led  to 
practical  results  that  alarmed  the  mother  and  the  woman 
of  business.  Mansell  was  still  the  first  grainer  in  the 
place,  and  the  tradesmen  would  have  employed  him  by 
preference  if  he  could  have  been  relied  on  to  finish  his 
jobs.  But  he  was  so  uncertain :  he  would  go  to  dinner, 
and  stop  at  a  public-house ;  would  appoint  an  hour  to 
commence,  and  be  at  a  public-house.  He  tired  out  one 
good  customer  ^.fter  another.  The  joint  income  declined 
in  consequence,  and,  as  generally  happens,  their  expenses 
increased,  for  Mrs.  Mansell,  getting  no  help  from  her 
husband,  was  obliged  to  take  a  servant. 

Often  in  the  evening  she  would  close  her  shop  early, 
leave  her  child  under  strict  charge  of  the  girl,  and  go  to 
some  public-house,  and  there  coax  and  remonstrate,  and 
get  him  away  at  last. 

With  all  this,  she  was  as  true  as  steel  to  him.  She 
never  was  known  to  admit  he  was  a  drunkard.  The  most 
she  would  acknowledge  to  angry  tradesmen,  and  that 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  17 

somewhat  haughtily,  was  that  he  took  a  drop  now  and 
then  to  put  away  the  smell  of  the  paint. 

But  in  private  she  was  not  so  easy.  She  expostulated, 
she  remonstrated,  she  reproached,  and  sometimes  she  lost 
heart  and  wept  bitterly  at  his  behavior. 

All  this  had  its  effect.  The  invectives  galled  Mr. 
Mansell's  vanity ;  the  tears  bored  him ;  the  total  made 
him  sullen,  and  alienated  his  affection.  The  injured 
party  forgave  freely ;  not  so  the  wrong-doer.  As  he 
never  hit  her  —  which  is  a  vent  —  this  gracious  person 
began  to  hate  her.  But  her  love  remained  as  invincible 
as  his  vice. 

Deborah's  husband  died  suddenly  of  apoplexy.  Sarah 
dared  not  go  to  comfort  her,  and  would  not  tell  the  reason. 
She  begged  the  mourner  to  come  to  her. 

Deborah  came,  and  the  sisters  rocked  together,  country 
fashion,  crying ;  though  such  different  characters,  they 
had  a  true  affection  for  each  other. 

By  and  b}^  Deborah  told  her,  with  another  burst  of 
grief,  her  husband  had  left  her  nothing  but  debt.  She 
was  next  door  to  a  beggar. 

"  Not  while  I  live,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  Stay  with 
me  for  good,  that  is  all."  The  servant  was  discharged 
at  Deborah's  request ;  she  said  she  must  work  hard  or 
die  of  grief.  Accordingly  she  went  about  crying,  but 
working,  and  all  steel  things  began  to  shine  and  the  brass 
to  glitter,  because  there  was  a  bereaved  widow  in  the 
house. 

This  was  a  great  comfort  in  every  way  to  Sarah ;  she 
could  leave  the  house  with  more  confidence  when  her 
beloved  had  to  be  dragged  away  from  liquid  ruin,  and 
also  it  did  her  good  to  sympathize  Avith  her  bereaved 
sister.  She  forbore  at  that  time  to  tell  Deborah  her 
own  trouble  ;  and  this  trait  indicates,  I  think,  the  depth 
of  her  character. 
2 


18  SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

As  for  Deborah,  she  soon  cried  herself  out,  and  one 
afternoon  Sarah  heard  her  laughing  with  the  baker's  man, 
laughing  from  the  chest,  as  young  ladies  are  ordered  to 
sing  (but  forbidden  by  Sir  Corset),  and  an  octave  lower 
than  she  had  ever  spoken  up-stairs  since  she  came. 

Sarah  was  surprised,  and  almost  shocked  at  first.  But 
she  said  to  herself,  "  Poor  Deb,  she  is  as  light-hearted  as 
ever ;  and  why  should  she  break  her  heart  for  him  ?  he 
wouldn't  for  her." 

By  and  by  Deborah  used  to  leave  the  house  when  her 
work  was  done,  if  Sarah  stayed  at  home.  She  could  not 
read,  so  she  must  walk  and  she  must  talk.  She  had  not 
read  a  single  book  this  five  years  ;  but  her  powers  of  con- 
versation were  developed.  She  had  sold  country  produce 
in  two  markets  weekly,  and  picked  up  plenty  of  country 
proverbs  and  market  chaff. 

She  soon  took  to  visiting  all  her  old  acquaintances  in 
the  place,  and  talked  nineteen  to  the  dozen  ;  and  here 
observe  a  phenomenon.  Her  whole  vocabulary  was  about 
nine  hundred  words,  whereas  you  and  I  know  nine  thou- 
sand and  more,  yet  she  would  ring  a  triple  bob-major  on 
that  small  vocabulary,  and  talk  learned  us  to  a  standstill. 
As  her  talk  was  all  gossij:*,  she  soon  knew  more  about 
the  Mansells  than  they  knew  themselves,  and  heard  that 
Mansell  drank  and  lived  upon  his  wife. 

This  gave  her  honest  concern.  Now  she  held  the  clew" 
to  Sarah's  absences  and  frequent  return  with  her  husband 
in  charge  and  inarticulate.  She  did  not  blurt  it  out  to 
her  sister,  nor  was  she  angry  at  her  want  of  confidence. 
She  knew  Sarah's  character,  and  rather  admired  her  for 
not  exposing  her  man  to  any  human  creature.  Still, 
when  she  did  know  it,  she  threw  out  so  many  hints  one 
after 'another  that  Sarah,  who,  poor  soul,  yearned  for 
sympathy,  made  at  last  a  partial  disclosure,  with  many  a 
sigh. 


SINGLEHEART   AND    DOUBLEFACE.  19 

Deborah  made  light  of  it,  and  hoped  it  was  onl}-  for  a 
time,  and  after  all  Sarah  was  glad  she  knew,  for  Deborah's 
tongue  was  not  in  reality  so  loose  as  it  was  fluent.  She 
could  chatter  without  any  appearance  of  reserve,  and  yet 
be  as  close  as  wax.  She  brought  home  to  Sarah  all  she 
heard,  but  she  never  told  anything  out  of  the  house. 

One  day  she  said  to  Sarah,  "Do  you  know  a  man  called 
Varney  —  Dick  Varney  ?  "  Sarah  said  she  had  never 
heard  his  name. 

"Then,"  said  Deborah,  "you  ought  to  know  him." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"Because  when  you  know  your  enemy  you  can  look 
out  for  him,  and  he  is  your  enemy  after  a  manner  —  for 
'tis  he  that  leads  your  husband  astray,  so  that  young  man 
said." 

"  What  young  man  ?  " 

"  I  think  his  name  is  Spencer,  and  somebody  called 
him  Joe  ;  he  was  a  good-looking  chap  anywa}^  I  sup- 
pose he  was  a  friend  of  Jemmy  Mansell's.  Somebody 
did  praise  you  for  a  good  daughter  and  a  good  wife,  but 
one  that  had  made  a  bad  bargain ;  then  that  was  the  signal 
for  each  to  have  a  fling  at  Jemmy  Mansell.  Never  you 
mind  what  theij  said.  This  handsome  chap  stood  up  for 
him,  and  said  the  man  was  a  first-rate  workman,  and 
meant  no  harm,  but  he  had  got  a  tempter  —  this  Dick 
Varney.  So  then  I  told  the  young  chap  who  I  was,  and 
he  seemed  quite  pleased  like,  and  said  he  had  heard  of 
me.  Of  course  what  he  said  I  stood  by  ;  I  said  there 
couldn't  be  a  better  husband  or  a  better  man  —  bar  drink 
—  than  James  Mansell." 

Sarah  thanked  her,  but  said,  "  Oh !  that  we  should  come 
to  be  talked  of  !  " 

"  Everybody  is,  within  walls,"  said  Deborah,  "  and 
them  that  listens  learns.  By  the  same  token  you  keep 
your  eye  on  that  Varney." 


20  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"How  can  I  ?     I  don't  know  him." 

"  No  more  you  do,  and  what  a  stupid  I  must  be  not  to 
ask  that  good-looking  chap  more  about  him.  I  wonder 
who  he  is ;  I  will  ask  James." 

"No." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Describe  him  to  me." 

"Well,  he  is  tall  and  broad-shouldered,  and  has  light 
hair,  and  dark  gray  eyes  like  jewels,  and  teeth  as  white 
as  milk,  and  a  gentle,  pleasant  way ;  looks  a  bit  sad,  he 
does,  as  if  he  had  been  crossed  in  love,  but  that  is  not 
likely  —  no  woman  would  be  such  a  fool  that  had  eyes 
iu  her  head.  Then  he  was  very  clean  and  neat,  like  a 
man  that  respected  hisself ;  and  lowered  his  voice  a  bit 
to  speak  to  a  woman.     There !  a  duck  ! " 

Sarah  looked  a  little  surprised  at  this  ardent  descrip- 
tion. However,  she  reflected,  and,  T  suppose,  she  thought 
there  must  be  some  truth  in  it,  though  it  had  not  struck 
her.  Then  she  said  carelessly,  "What  was  his  busi- 
ness ?  " 

"  I  think  he  was  in  the  same  way  as  James  himself." 

"  Was  his  name  Pinder  —  Joseph  Pinder  ?  " 

"  That,  or  something.  The  name  was  new  to  me,  but 
Joseph  for  certain." 

"Well,  if  it  is  Joseph  Pinder,  I  will  ask  you  not  to 
make  acquaintance  with  him.  You  seem  to  be  making 
acquaintances  very  fast  for  a  woman  in  your  condition." 

"  My  condition,"  said  Deborah.  "  Why,  that  is  where 
it  is  —  I  can't  bear  to  think.  I  must  work  or  talk.  It 
is  very  unkind  of  you  to  cast  my  condition  in  my  teeth." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to.  Deb.     There,  forgive  me." 

"  With  all  my  heart ;  you  have  got  your  own  trouble. 
Only  give  me  a  reason,  why  am  I  not  to  speak  to  this 
Joseph  —  such  an  outlandish  name  —  this  handsome 
Joe  ?  " 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  21 

"Well,  then,  one  reason  is,  he  courted  me  after  a 
fashion." 

"  Oh,  la !     Is  that  where  the  shoe  pinches  ?  " 

"  We  used  to  walk  together  like  two  children  till  my 
man  came ;  then  they  quarrelled,  and  that  Pinder  beat 
him,  and  I  can't  forgive  it;  and  the  first  night  James 
was  quite  overtaken  with  liquor,  Pinder  brought  him 
home,  and  it  was  like  a  knife  in  my  heart." 

"  Poor  Sally !  You  saw  you  had  chosen  the  wrong 
one." 

"  Chosen  the  wrong  one  ! "  cried  Sarah,  contemptuously. 
"I  wouldn't  give  my  James's  little  finger,  drunk  or 
sober,  for  a  thousand  Joseph  Pinders.  There,  it  is  no 
use  talking  to  you.  You  don't  understand  a  word  I  say. 
Anywa}',  I  do  beg  of  j-ou  not  to  make  acquaintance  with 
the  man,  nor  let  him  know  what  passes  in  this  house." 

"Why,  of  course  not,  Sally,  if  you.  say  the  word. 
What  is  the  man  to  me  ?  Your  will  is  my  pleasure,  and 
your  word  ray  law." 

This  from  an  elder  sister  merited  an  embrace,  and  it 
received  a  very  tender  one. 

At  last  it  came  to  this,  that  nobody  in  the  town  who 
knew  James  Mansell  would  employ  him. 

Instead  of  contributing  his  share,  he  lived  entirely  on 
his  wife,  at  home  and  abroad,  and  he  lived  ill.  So  the 
house  was  divided  against  itself.  The  husband,  the 
bread-winner  in  theory,  was  doing  all  he  could  to  ruin 
the  family ;  two  brave  women  were  fighting  tooth  and 
nail  to  save  it.  They  were  losing  ground  a  little,  and 
that  alarmed  Sarah  terribly  ;  but  then  she  had  a  reserve  : 
sixty  pounds  hidden  in  an  iron  box,  with  a  good  key. 
She  never  told  her  husband  of  this.  She  hid  it  for  his 
good.  The  box  was  a  small  one,  but  she  had  it  fastened 
with  strong  iron  clamps  to  the  wall,  and  she  kept  sal- 
ables  before  it  to  hide  it. 


22  SLXGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

Mausell's  extravagance  slie  fed  from  the  till  —  not 
without  comments,  grave  and  sorrowful,  not  bitter;  yet 
they  embittered  him.  The  man's  vanity  was  prodigious  ; 
it  equalled  his  demerit. 

Whilst  the  brave  wife  and  mother  was  thus  battling 
with  undeserved  adversity,  she  received  a  new  alarm. 

Being  single-handed  in  the  shop,  it  was  her  way  to 
prepare,  with  Deborah's  assistance,  weighed  and  marked 
packets  of  sugar,  tea,  soda,  and  other  things ;  and  one 
evening  they  had  taken  a  lump  of  Irish  butter  out  of 
the  tub  and  weighed  five  pounds,  and  left  it  on  a  slab. 
Early  in  the  morning  a  customer  came  for  a  pound. 
This  was  weighed  off,  and  left  so  small  a  residue  that 
Mrs.  Mansell  weighed  it,  and  found  there  was  only  one 
pound  and  a  half  left. 

She  could  hardly  believe  her  senses  at  first,  but  the 
weight  was  clear.  She  asked  Deborah,  with  assumed 
carelessness,  how  much  butter  they  had  weighed  out 
last  night.  Deborah  replied,  without  hesitation,  *'  Five 
pounds." 

After  that  day  she  looked  more  closely  into  the  stock, 
and  she  detected  losses  and  diminutions.  One  day  a 
slice  off  a  side  of  bacon ;  another,  a  tin  of  preserved 
meat ;  in  short,  a  system  of  pilfering.  She  shrank  from 
the  idea  of  theft,  if  it  could  be  accounted  for  in  any 
other  way.  She  thought  it  just  possible,  though  not 
likely,  that  Deborah  had  made  free  with  these  things 
for  the  use  of  the  house.  She  told  her  what  she  had 
discovered,  and  asked  her  as  delicately  as  possible 
whether  she  ever  came  to  the  shop  for  anything  that  was 
wanted  in  her  kitchen. 

Deborah  went  off  like  a  woman  of  gunpowder,  cross- 
examined  by  a  torch.  "  Me  take  anything  out  of  your 
shop  for  my  kitchen ! " 

"  Well,  'tis  my  kitchen  and  all  —  'twould  only  be  from 
Peter  to  Paul" 


SINGLEHEAET    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  23 

The  Other  was  not  to  be  pacified  so.  -  Me  take  what 
does  not  belong  to  me !  Oh !  have  I  lived  to  be  suspected 
by  mv  own  sister  ?  I'd  cut  off  this  arm  sooner  than  I 
would  steal  with  this  hand.  I  never  wronged  a  creature 
of  a  farthing  or  a  farthing's  worth  in  all  mv  life.  Send 
me  home.  Send  me  to  the  workhouse.  I  am  not  fit  to 
be  trusted,  and  so  many  things  about.  Oh  !  oh !  oh !  oh ! " 
and  down  she  sat  and  rocked- 

"There!  there!  there!""  cried  Sarah,  coming  swiftly 
and  sitting  beside  her.  "Xow  where  would  have  been 
the  harm  if  you  had  taken  things  for  our  own  use  ? 
And  oughtn't  I  to  ask  you  before  I  suspected  something 
worse  ?  O  Deborah,  haven't  I  trouble  enough,  that  you 
must  cry  and  set  me  off  too  ?  Oh !  oh !  You  might 
think  a  little  of  me  as  well  as  yourself.  Is  it  nothing  to 
you  that  I  am  robbed  and  all  ?  Haven't  I  trouble  enough 
without  that  ?  There,  give  over  —  that's  a  dear,  and  I'll 
give  you  a  new  print  this  very  day."' 

Deborah  dried  up  directly,  and  her  sentiments  shifted 
like  the  wind.  ••  I  wish  I  had  them  that  rob  you,'"  said 
she,  and  she  extended  her  great,  long,  powerful  arm 
formidably. 

••  We  must  watch  day  and  night,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Manseil.  gloomily,  and  with  a  weary  air.  and  she  took  it 
all  to  heart,  even  the  pain  she  had  given  Deborah,  whose 
mind  was  like  running  water,  and  retained  no  trace  of 
the  dialogue  in  ten  minutes.  Xot  so  the  deeper  nature. 
3Its.  Manseil  brooded  over  it  alL  and  when  the  shop  was 
shut,  she  sat  in  the  parlor  —  sat  and  suffered-  James 
^Manseil  was  out  as  usual  She  sat  and  looked  at  Lucy, 
and  wondered  what  would  be  her  own  fate  and  her 
child's  at  the  end  of  this  desperate  struggle.  She 
became  hysterical  a  rare  thing  with  her.  and  Deborah 
found  her  trembling  all  over  where  she  sat,  and  quit- 
shaken.     She  was  despondent  and  exasperated  by  turns. 


24  SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

She  had  twitches  all  over  her  body,  and  hot  tears  ran 
out  of  her  eyes. 

It  was  a  woman's  break-down,  and  Deborah,  who  knew 
the  female  constitution,  just  sat  beside  her  and  held  her 
hand.  Sarah  clung  to  this  hand,  and  clutched  it  every 
now  and  then  convulsively.  She  spoke  in  broken  sen- 
tences. "  Too  many  things  against  me :  drunkenness 
here,  theft  there.  It  will  end  in  the  workhouse.  How 
else  can  it  end  ?  I'm  glad  father's  dead.  Poor  father  1 
—  have  I  lived  to  say  that?"  The  talkative  Deborah 
said  never  a  word,  so  Sarah  began  to  calm  down  by 
degrees  with  gentle  sighs  and  tremors. 

Unluckily,  before  she  was  quite  calm,  Mansell  knocked 
at  the  door.  Sarah  could  tell  his  knock,  or  his  footstep, 
or  any  sound  he  made  in  a  moment.  Her  face  beamed. 
It  was  early  for  him.  He  was  sober,  and  she  could  tell 
him  of  this  new  trouble. 

Deborah  ran  to  let  him  in.  Sarah  stood  up  smiling  to 
welcome  him. 

He  blundered  into  the  room,  beastly  drunk,  neckcloth 
loose,  eyes  bloodshot;  he  could  just  keep  on  his  legs. 

Sarah  caught  up  her  child  with  the  strength  of  a 
lioness,  flung  one  full  and  fiery  look  of  horror  and  dis- 
gust right  in  her  husband's  face,  then  rushed  majestic- 
ally from  the  room,  carrying  her  child  across  her  arms. 

Drunk  as  he  was,  the  brute  staggered  under  this  tre- 
mendous glance  and  eloquent  rush.  He  blundered 
against  the  mantelpiece,  and  hung  his  head. 

Deborah  set  her  arms  akimbo.  "  You've  done  this 
once  too  often,"  she  said,  grimly,  and  her  eyes  glittered 
at  him  wickedly. 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  said  he.  "  Why  did  she 
run  away  from  me  like  that  ?  " 

"  Because  of  the  child,  you  may  be  sure.  There,  don't 
let  us  quarrel.  Will  you  have  your  supper,  now  you  are 
here  ?  " 


SINGLEHEAKT    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  25 

"  I  don't  want  my  supper ;  I  want  my  wife.  You  go 
and  fetch  her  directly."  He  was  excited,  and  Deborah, 
determined  to  keep  the  peace,  took  his  message  to  Sarah 
in  Lucy's  bedroom. 

Sarah  was  shaking  all  over,  and  refused  to  come.  "  I 
dare  not,"  said  she.  "  I  am  in  such  a  state  I  feel  I  might 
say  or  do  something  I  should  rue  afterward,  for  I  love 
him.  Would  to  God  I  had  never  seen  him,  but  I  love 
him.  Go  you  and  pacify  him.  I  shall  sleep  here  beside 
my  child." 

Deborah  went  down,  and  found  Mansell  in  the  arm- 
chair, looking  spiteful.  She  told  him  Sarah  was  not 
Avell.     She  could  not  come  down. 

"  Humbug ! "  roared  James  Mansell ;  "  she  is  shamming. 
I'll  go  and  fetch  her  down,"  and  he  bounced  up.  Deborah 
whipped  before  the  door.  "  Stand  out  of  my  way,"  said 
he,  loftily,  and  came  blundering  at  her.  She  pinned  him 
directly  by  the  collar  with  both  hands,  shook  him  to  and 
fro  as  a  dog  does  a  rat,  then  put  both  hands  suddenly  to 
his  breast,  made  a  grand  rush  forward  with  him,  and 
with  the  double  power  of  her  loins  and  her  great  long 
arms,  shot  him  all  across  the  room  into  the  arm-chair 
with  such  an  impetus  that  the  chair  went  crashing 
against  the  wall,  and  the  man  in  it  head  down,  feet  up. 

Mr.  Mansell  stared  dumfounded  at  first.  He  thought 
some  supernatural  j^ower  had  disposed  of  him.  He  did 
not  allow  for  suddeimess,  and  was  not  aware  that  pulling 
and  pushing  go  by  weight,  and  that  strapping  Deborah, 
without  an  ounce  of  fat,  weighed  two  stone  more  than 
he  did,  owing  to  certain  laws  of  construction  not  worth 
particularizing  a  la  fran<;alse. 

"  I  never  lay  my  hand  on  a  woman,"  said  he,  moodily. 

"I'm  not  so  nice,"  replied  Deborah,  erect,  with  her 
fists  upon  her  hips.  "  I  can  lay  my  hands  on  a  man  — 
for  his  good.     I've  had  that  much  to  do  afore  now,  and 


26  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

I  never  found  one  could  master  me,  bar  hitting,  which  I 
call  that  cowardly." 

Then,  as  time  was  up  for  a  change  of  sentiment  — 
eighty  whole  seconds  —  she  shifted  to  friendly  advice. 

"Jemmy,  my  man,"  said  she,  "women  are  curious 
creatures.  They  are  not  themselves  at  times.  Our 
Sally  has  got  the  nerves.  She  might  fling  a  knife  at 
you  if  you  tormented  her  just  now,  sobbing  over  her 
child.  Take  my  advice,  now,  that  is  a  friend  to  both  of 
you.  Let  her  a-be.  If  you  don't  upset  her  no  more  to- 
night, which  I  declare  you  sha^nH,  she'll  be  as  sweet  as 
honey  in  the  morning." 

"  She  may,"  said  Mansell,  sullenly,  "  but  1  shall  not. 
If  she  lies  away  from  me  to-night,  I'll  lie  away  from  her 
a  year  or  more,  mind  that." 

"  Where  ?     In  the  union  ?  " 

"  No.     That  is  as  much  as  to  say  she  keeps  me." 

"And  doesn't  she  ?  Where  does  the  money  come  from 
you  spend  in  drink  ?  " 

"  I  have  got  an  offer  of  work." 

"  Work  ?     It  isn't  under  your  skin." 

"Not  here,  but  this  is  in  America.  Such  work  as 
mine  is  paid  out  there,  and  I  can  make  my  fortune,  and 
not  have  it  flung  in  my  face  I'm  living  on  a  woman." 

Deborah  did  not  think  this  gasconade  worth  replying 
to.  She  suggested  repose  as  the  best  thing  for  him 
after  the  hard  work  he  had  gone  through,  lifting  mugs 
and  quarterns  all  the  way  from  the  counter  to  his  teeth. 
With  much  trouble  she  got  him  up  the  stairs,  and  took 
off  his  neckcloth  and  loosened  his  shirt-collar.  Then 
she  retired  for  a  reasonable  time,  and  when  he  was  in 
bed  came  and  took  away  the  candle  from  him  as  she 
would  from  a  child.     He  called  to  her,  — 

"  Hear  my  last  word." 

"  No  sucli  luck,"  said  she,  dryly. 


SINGLEHEAKT   AND   DOUBLEPACE.  27 

"Hold  your  tongue." 

"  If  I  hold  my  tongue,  I  shall  slobber  my  teeth." 

"  Can  you  listen  a  moment  ?  " 

"  If  I  hold  my  breath." 

"Then  mind  this.  If  she  leaves  me  like  this,  I'll 
leave  her.  I  won't  be  taken  up  and  put  down  by  any 
woman." 

"  I'll  tell  her,  my  man,"  said  she,  to  quiet  him ;  then 
took  away  his  candle,  and  went  down-stairs  to  her  own 
room,  for  she  slept  on  the  kitchen  floor.  She  seized  a 
feather-bed,  lugged  it  up  the  stairs,  and  made  up  a  bed 
on  the  floor  for  Sarah.  "  He  is  all  right,"  said  she,  and 
not  a  word  more.  Then  she  went  down-stairs,  and  put 
her  red  hair  in  curl-papers  —  for  she  was  flirting  all 
round.  No.  1  had  been  dead  six  months  —  and  slept  like 
a  stone  upon  a  hard  mattress,  not  harder  than  her  own 
healthy  limbs. 


28  SINGLE  1 1 EAUT   AND   DOUBLEFACB. 


CHAPTER   III. 

What  -wonderful  restoratives  are  a  good  long  sleep 
and  the  dawn  of  day !  They  co-operate  so,  invigorating 
the  body  and  fortifying  the  mind.  They  clear  away  the 
pain  and  the  forebodings  night  engenders,  and  brighten 
not  only  the  face  of  nature,  but  our  individual  prospects. 
Tlie  glorious  dawn  falling  upon  our  refreshed  eyes  and 
invigorated  bodies  is  like  a  trumpet  sounding  "  Nil  des- 
perandum  !  "  Mrs.  Mansell  was  one  of  the  many  whom 
sleep  and  dawn  re-inspired  and  reconciled  to  her  lot  that 
morning.  She  had  slept  in  a  pure  atmosphere  —  untar- 
nished by  a  drunkard's  breath.  She  awoke  with  her 
nerves  composed  and  her  heart  strengthened. 

Her  life  was  to  be  a  battle  —  that  was  plain.  But  she 
had  forces  and  an  ally.  Her  forces  were  rare  health, 
strength,  prudence,  and  sobriety.  Her  ally  was  Deborah. 
She  began  the  battle  this  morning  brightly  and  hopefully. 
She  was  the  first  up,  and  having  dressed  herself  neatly, 
as  she  always  did,  she  put  on  a  large  apron  and  bib, 
coarse  but  clean,  and  descended  to  the  parlor.  She  called 
up  the  spiral  staircase  —  "  James  ! " 

Ko  answer. 

She  went  into  the  shop,  and  called  down  the  kitchen- 
stairs.  No  reply  from  her  sister.  "Lazy-bones,"  said 
she.  She  struck  a  light  in  the  shop,  and  her  eye  fell 
upon  a  large  hand-bell.  She  took  it  up  and  rang  it  down 
the  kitchen  stairs.  Instantly  there  was  a  sort  of  yawn 
of  distress.  Then  she  bustled  into  the  parlor,  and  rang 
it  up  the  spiral  staircase.  Then  she  set  it  down,  and 
took  her  candle  into  the  shop  and  sorted  and  dusted  and 
counted  the  goods,  and  cleaned  the  counter. 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  29 

Presently  in  sauntered  Deborah  from  the  kitchen,  with 
her  hair  in  curl-papers,  and  a  chasm  in  the  upper  part  of 
her  gown,  so  that  she  seemed  half  dislocated;  and  she 
adhered  to  the  wall  for  support,  and  sprawled  out  one 
long  arm  and  a  hand,  which  she  flattened  against  the 
Avail,  to  hold  on  by  suction  sooner  than  not  at  all. 
"  Here's  a  (yawn)  to-do,"  said  she.  "  Anybody's  (yawn) 
cat  dead  ?  " 

"No,  but  mine  are  catching  no  mice.  Nobody  to  light 
the  fire  and  give  my  man  his  breakfast  while  I  open  the 
shop.     Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself  ?  " 

"  Too  sleepy  (yawn)  to  be  ashamed  of  anything." 

"  Then  wake  up  and  bustle." 

Deborah  gave  herself  a  wriggle  that  set  her  long  bare 
arms  flying  like  windmills,  and  went  to  work.  The  pair 
soon  brightened  the  parlor,  and  then  Sarah  came  into 
the  shop  and  opened  the  door ;  but  the  patent  shutters 
outside  were  heavy  and  stiff,  as  she  knew,  so  she  called 
Deborah. 

"  You  might  pull  down  those  heavy  shutters  outside 
for  me.  You  are  stronger  than  I  am,  for  all  you  look 
like  a  jelly-bag." 

Deborah  drew  back  in  dismay.  "Me  go  into  the 
street!     I'm  not  half  dressed." 

"  Fine  shapes  don't  need  fine  clothes.  You  might 
catch  another  husband  on  the  pavement." 

"  I'd  rather  catch  him  in  church  with  my  new  bonnet." 
Then,  to  escape  any  more  invitations  to  publish  her  curl- 
papers —  for  that  was  where  the  shoe  really  pinched  — 
she  ran  maliciously  into  the  parlor,  screaming  up  the 
corkscrew  stairs,  "  Here,  master  !  James  Mansell,  you 
are  wanted ! " 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  Sarah,  coloring ;  "  he  is  not  your 
servant.  Them  that  do  it  for  me  will  be  round  directly. 
It  isn't  the  master's  business  to  take  down  the  wife's 
shutters." 


30  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLBFACE. 

"I  think  it  is  then,  if  he  is  a  man,  for  it  is  a  man's 
work." 

Deborah  spoke  this  at  James  Mansell,  and  at  the  top 
of  her  voice.  The  words  were  hardly  out  of  her  mouth 
when  a  man's  hands  were  seen  to  pull  down  the  heavy 
shutters  and  let  in  the  light. 

''  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  the  ready  Deborah.  "  And 
here  is  one  dropped  from  the  sky  express." 

"  Why,  it  is  Joseph  Pinder,"  said  Mrs.  Mansell,  draw- 
ing back. 

"  La !     Your  old  sweetheart !  " 

"  Never  !     For  shame  !     Hold  your  tongue  !  " 

Deborah  grinned  with  delight,  and  whipped  into  the 
parlor  to  hide  her  curl-papers  and  listen.  Sarah  went 
behind  the  counter  and  minded  her  business.  She  made 
sure  Pinder  would  proceed  on  his  course,  as  soon  as  he 
had  done  that  act  of  courtesy. 

Instead  of  that  he  came  slowly  and  a  little  sheepishly 
in  at  the  door,  and  stood  at  the  counter  opposite  her. 
He  was  in  a  complete  suit  of  white  cotton,  all  but  his 
soft  brown  hat,  and  looked  wonderfully  neat  and  clean. 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Mansell,"  said  he,  respectfully. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Pinder,"  said  Mrs.  Mansell. 
Then,  stiffly,  "  Sorry  you  should  take  so  much  trouble." 

Pinder  looked  puzzled,  so,  woman-like,  she  answered 
his  looks. 

"  I  mean,  to  take  down  my  shutters.  I  pay  a  person 
express." 

"  Oh,  I  heard  somebody  say  it  was  a  man's  work." 

Sarah  explained  hurriedly  :  "  Oh,  that  was  my  sister." 

"What,  Deborah?" 

"Deborah,"  said  she,  dryly,  in  a  way  calculated  to 
close  the  dialogue.  But  Pinder  did  not  move.  He 
fumbled  with  his  hat,  and  at  last  said  he  was  not  there 
by  accident,  but  had  come  to  see  her. 


SINGLBHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  31 

"  What  for  ?  "  and  she  opened  her  eyes  rather  wide. 

"  A  little  bit  of  business." 

Sarah  colored,  but  she  said  dryly,  "  What  can  I  serve 
you  ?  " 

"Oh,  it  is  not  with  i/ou  ;  it  is  with  your  husband." 

"Indeed,"  said  she,  rather  incredulously,  almost  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Got  him  a  job." 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  was  the  reply, 
and  now  the  tone  was  satirical.  "My  husband  has 
plenty  of  jobs." 

"  Well,  he  used  to  have  ;  but  the  shopkeepers  here 
are  against  him  now ;  they  say  he  leaves  his  work." 

Sarah  seized  this  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  Mr.  Pinder 
altogether.  "  Did  you  come  here  to  run  ray  husband 
down  to  me  ?  "  she  inquired  haughtily. 

"  Am  I  one  of  that  sort  ?  "  said  Pinder  defiantly.  He 
was  beginning  to  take  offence,  as  well  he  might.  "I 
came  to  do  the  man  a  good  turn,  whether  I  get  any 
thanks  for  it  or  not." 

Sarah  colored  and  held  her  peace.  He  had  taken  the 
right  way  with  her  now.  But  it  was  hard  for  the  good- 
natured  fellow  to  hold  spite,  especially  against  her ;  he 
went  naturally  back  to  his  friendly  manner,  and  told  her 
that  the  new  Rectory  was  being  decorated  by  a  London 
firm,  and  their  grainer  had  been  taken  ill,  and  he 
(Pinder)  had  told  the  foreman  he  knew  a  tiptop  grainer, 
James  Mansell,  and  the  foreman  had  jumped  at  him. 

"  I've  made  the  bargain,  Sarah.  London  price.  It's 
a  thirty-pound  job."     And  he  looked  proud. 

"  Thirty  pounds  ?  "  exclaimed  Sarah. 

"  Yes ;  it's  a  large  house,  panelled  rooms,  and  hall  and 
staircase,  all  to  be  grained,  besides  the  doors  and  shutters, 
and  skirtings.  Only  mind,  these  swell  London  trades- 
men won't  stand  —  unpunctuality.  Where  is  he,  if  you 
please  ? " 


32  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  Oh,  he  is  at  home." 

"  Then  let  me  see  him  directly." 

"You  can't  just  now." 

Deborah,  who  had  listened  to  every  word,  chose  this 
moment  to  emerge  from  the  parlor.  She  had  utilized 
her  curl-papers  by  lighting  the  fire  with  them,  and  came 
out  very  neat  in  a  charming  cap,  and  courtesied.  "  Give 
him  half  an  hour,  Mr.  Pinder,"  said  she  sweetly  ;  "  he  is 
in  bed." 

Pinder  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said  he  could  not 
wait  half  an  hour  —  he  was  due;  but  he  wrote  a  line 
with  his  pencil  for  Mansell  to  give  to  the  foreman  ;  then 
he  put  on  his  cap  and  said,  jauntily,  "  Good-morning, 
ladies." 

"Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Deborah,  graciously. 

"And  thank  you,  Joseph,"  said  Sarah,  gently. 

"  You  are  very  welcome  ;  I  suppose  you  know  that," 
said  he,  as  bluntly  as  he  could. 

When  he  was  gone,  Sarah's  artificial  indifference  dis- 
appeared with  a  vengeance.  She  ran  into  the  parlor, 
and  screamed  up  the  spiral  staircase,  "  James !  James  ! 
Such  good  news  !     Get  up  and  come  down  directly  ! " 

"  All  right,"  said  a  sleepy  voice. 

Then  she  turned  on  Deborah.  "  And  what  call  had 
you  to  say  he  was  in  bed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  truth  may  be  blamed,  but  it  can't  be 
shamed,"  was  Deborah's  steady  reply. 

Proverbs  being  unanswerable,  Sarah  changed  the  sub- 
ject.    "  And  if  you  haven't  got  on  my  new  cap  ! " 

Deborah  had  no  by-word  ready  to  justify  misappropria- 
tion of  another  lady's  cap ;  so  she  took  a  humble  tone. 
"  La,  Sally  !  I  couldn't  help  it,  he  was  such  a  nice  young 
man.  You  can't  abide  him,  but  tastes  they  differ.  Do 
yo\i  think  he  will  come  again  ?  If  he  does,  I  really  must 
set  my  cap  at  him." 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  33 

"  But  not  viine ; "  and  Sarah,  who  was  in  rare  spirits, 
whipped  her  cap  in  a  moment  off  her  sister's  head. 

"  La !  you  needn't  to  take  ray  hair  and  all,"  whined 
Deborah.     "  That's  ni}^  own,  anyway." 

"  Then  you  are  not  in  the  fashion,"  was  the  ready 
reply.  "  Come,  Deb,  enough  chat ;  this  is  a  busy  morn- 
ing, and  a  happy  morning  to  make  us  forget  last  night 
forever.  Kow,  dear,  run  and  make  my  man  his  coffee  — 
nice  and  strong." 

« I  will." 

"  And  clean  his  boots  for  going  out." 

"If  I  must,  I  must,"  said  Deborah,  with  sudden 
languor.  She  never  could  see  why  women  should  clean 
men's  boots. 

"And  air  him  a  shirt." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  inquired  Deborah,  affecting  surprise. 

"All  at  present,"  said  the  mistress,  dryly. 

"What,  hasn't  he  any  hose  to  darn,  nor  hair  to  be  cut, 
nor  teeth  to  be  cleaned  for  him  ?  " 

"  You  go  on,  with  your  cheek,"  and  she  threatened 
Deborah  merrily  with  a  duster.  Her  heart  was  light. 
And  now  a  customer  or  two  trickled  in  at  intervals.  She 
served  them  promptly  and  civilly. 

Presently  she  saw  her  husband  coming  slowly  down 
the  spiral  staircase.  She  ran  into  the  parlor  to  meet 
him.  Not  a  word  about  last  night,  but  welcomed  him 
with  smiles  and  a  long  kiss.  "  Good  news,  dear,"  said 
she,  jubilant. 

He  received  her  with  discouraging  languor :  "  Well, 
what  is  up  ?  " 

But  she  was  not  to  be  disheartened  so  easily.  "  Wh}^, 
Jemmy  dear  !  there's  a  job  waiting  for  you  at  the  Rectory, 
and  you  are  to  have  thirty  pounds  for  it." 

"  Thirty  pounds  !  That  will  be  a  long  job." 

She  tossed  her  head  a  little  at  that.  "Why  a  long 
3 


34  STNGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

job  ?  It  is  not  day  work.  It  shouldn't  be  a  long  job 
if  I  had  it  to  do,  and  was  as  clever  as  you  are.  Come, 
here's  Deborah  with  your  coffee  and  nice  hot  toast.  Eat 
your  breakfast  and  start.  No,  don't  take  it  into  the  par- 
lor, Deb,  to  waste  more  time ;  set  it  down  here  on  the 
flap.     I  do  love  to  see  him  eat." 

Mr.  Mansell,  thus  stimulated,  put  the  coffee  to  his 
lips.     But  he  set  it  down  untasted,  and  said  he  couldn't. 

"  Try,  dear ;  'twill  do  you  good." 

"  I  can't,  Sally  ;  I  am  very  ill ;  my  head  swims  so,  and 
my  chest  is  on  fire.  Oh ! "  and  Mr.  Mansell  leaned  on 
the  end  of  the  counter  and  groaned  aloud.  He  made  so 
much  of  his  disease  that  Sarah  was  alarmed,  and  told 
Deborah  to  run  for  the  doctor. 

That  personage  stood  stock-still,  and  as  ostentatiously 
calm  as  the  invalid  was  demonstrative  in  his  sufferings. 
"A  doctor!  Why,  he'd  make  the  man  ill."  She  folded 
her  arms  and  contemplated  the  victim.  "  Hot  coppers," 
said  she.  "He  only  wants  a  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit 
him."  This  with  a  composure  that  befitted  the  occasion  ; 
but  it  was  not  so  received.  "  How  dare  you  !  "  cried 
Sarah. 

"  Yes,  Deb,  for  mercy's  sake,"  moaned  the  sufferer  — 
"  for  mercy's  sake,  a  drop  of  brandy  !  " 

Deborah  would  have  gone  for  it  directly  if  she  had 
been  mistress,  but,  as  it  was,  she  consulted  her  sister  by 
the  eye. 

Sarah  replied  to  that  look  with  great  decision.  "  Not 
if  you  are  any  sister  of  mine.  Ay,  that  is  the  way  of  it 
—  drink  to  be  ill,  and  then  drink  to  be  well ;  and  once 
you  have  begun,  go  on  till  you  are  ill  again,  and  want  a 
drop  to  start  you  again  on  the  road  to  beggary  and 
shame.  Drink,  drink,  drink  !  in  a  merry-go-round  that 
never  halts."  Then,  firmly :  "  Yotc  drink  your  coffee 
without  more  words,  and  then  go  and  work  for  your 
daughter  like  a  man.     Come  !  " 


SLNGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  35 

She  held  the  cup  out  to  him  with  a  fine  air  of  author- 
ity, though  her  heart  was  quaking  all  the  time,  and  he, 
being  just  then  in  a  subdued  condition,  took  it  resignedly, 
and  sipped  a  little.  Then  a  customer  came  in,  but  Sarah 
was  not  to  be  diverted  from  her  purjoose.  She  ordered 
Deborah  to  stand  there  and  see  him  drain  every  drop. 
Deborah  folded  her  bare  arms  and  inspected  the  process 
loftily  but  keenly.  He  got  through  two-thirds  of  the 
contents,  then  showed  her  the  balance  with  such  a  pite- 
ous look  that  she  had  compassion,  stretched  out  her  long 
arm  for  the  cup,  sent  the  contents  down  her  throat  with 
one  gesture,  and  returned  the  cup  with  another  gesture, 
half  regal,  half  vulgar,  all  in  two  seconds,  and  James 
with  admirable  rapidity  set  the  cup  down  empty  under 
Sarah's  eye,  and  so  they  abused  her  confidence. 

"Well  done,"  said  she;  "strong  coffee  is  an  antidote, 
they  say,  and  work  is  another.  Off  you  go  to  the  Rectory, 
and  work  till  one.  Deborah  will  have  a  nice  hot  dinner 
ready  for  you  by  then."  She  found  him  his  basket  and 
his  brushes,  all  cleaned  by  herself,  though  he  had  left 
them  foul. 

At  this  last  trait  a  gleam  of  gratitude  shot  into  his 
skuir.  He  said,  "Well,  you  are  the  right  sort.  It  is 
some  pleasure  to  work  for  you." 

"  And  our  child,"  said  she.  "  Think  of  us  both  when 
you  think  of  one.  0  Jemmy  dear !  if  you  should  ever 
be  tempted  again,  do  but  ask  yourself  whether  them  that 
tempt  you  to  your  ruin  love  you  as  well  as  we  do." 

"  Say  no  more,  Sally ;  I'll  turn  a  new  leaf.  Here, 
give  me  a  kiss  over  the  counter."  So  they  had  a  long 
conjugal  embrace  over  the  counter. 

Deborah  looked  on,  and  said,  in  her  way,  "  Makes  my 
mouth  water,  being  a  widder." 

"There,"  said  James  Mansell,  turning  to  go.  "I'll 
never   touch   a   drop  again  until  I  have  chucked  that 

Vol.  9—14 


36  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

thirty  pounds  into  your  lap,  my  girl."  With  this  re- 
solve, he  left  the  shop. 

Sarah  must  come  round  the  corner,  and  watch  him 
down  the  street :  then  she  turned  at  the  door,  and 
beamed  all  over,  and  her  eyes  sparkled.  "  God  bless 
him  ! "  she  cried.  "  There  isn't  a  better  workman,  nor  a 
better  husband,  nor  a  better  man  in  Britain,  only  keep 
him  from  drink.     Now  is  there  ?  " 

"  La  !  Sarah,  how  can  I  tell  ?  I  never  saw  him  sober 
six  days  running ;  but  I  have  heard  you  say  he  used  to 
be  a  good  husband.  And  why  not  again,  if  he  do  but 
keep  his  word  ?  " 

"  And  he  will ;  he  is  not  the  man  to  break  his  word, 
far  less  his  oath.  He  turns  over  a  new  leaf  to-day,  and 
I'm  a  happy  woman  once  more." 

"  And  I'll  have  his  dinner  ready  to  the  moment." 

Deborah  dived  into  the  kitchen,  and  was  heard  the 
next  moment  working  and  whistling  tunes  of  a  cheerful 
character.  No  blacksmith  or  ploughboy  could  beat  this 
rustic  dame  at  that. 

Mrs.  Mansell  was  soon  occupied  at  the  counter.  A 
cook  came  in,  and  bought  three  pounds  of  bacon  at  eight- 
pence  the  pound  for  her  mistress,  and  ditto  of  best  Lim- 
erick at  eleven-pence  for  the  kitchen  —  these  prices  to  be 
reversed  in  her  housekeeping  book.  She  also  paid  the 
week's  bill,  and  demanded  her  perquisite.  Sarah  sub- 
mitted, and  gave  her  half  a  crown,  or  her  mistress  would 
have  shopped  elsewhere  under  her  influence.  Then  came 
a  maid-of-all-work  for  a  packet  of  black  lead,  seven  pounds 
of  soda,  two  of  sugar,  a  bar  of  soap,  and  some  "connubial " 
blacking.  Sarah  said  she  was  out  of  that.  The  slavey 
replied,  with  the  usual  attention  to  grammar,  "  Oh,  yes, 
you  do  !  Mrs.  White's  servant  buys  it  here." 

"Oh,  that's  Nubian  blacking." 

"  Well,  and  that's  what  I  want ;  saves  a  vast  o' 
trouble." 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  37 

Others  came,  child  customers,  some  only  just  up  to 
the  counter,  and  man}^  of  them  mute.  These  showed 
their  coppers,  and  Sarah  had  to  divine  the  rest.  But 
she  had  a  rare  eye  for  them ;  she  looked  keenly  at  each 
mite,  and  knew  what  they  wanted  by  their  faces  and 
their  coin.  She  gave  one  a  screw  of  tobacco  for  father, 
another  a  candle  with  paper  wrapped  round  the  middle, 
another  an  ounce  of  candy.  But  as  it  drew  near  one 
there  was  a  lull  in  trade,  and  savory  smells  came  up 
from  the  kitchen.  The  good  wife  must  have  a  finger  in 
her  husband's  dinner.  She  locked  the  shop-door  and 
ran  down  to  the  kitchen  fire,  and  when  it  had  struck 
one,  and  everything  was  done  to  a  turn,  she  ran  up  again 
and  unlocked  the  door  and  laid  a  clean  cloth  in  the  little 
parlor,  and  had  Lucy  there  very  neat,  that  no  attraction 
might  be  wanting  to  her  converted  husband  and  workman 
on  his  return  to  his  well-earned  meal. 

By  and  by  Deborah  looked  in  with  cheeks  as  red  as 
her  hair  to  say  the  steak  would  spoil  if  not  eaten. 

"  But  you  mustn't  let  it  spoil,"  objected  Sarah,  loftily. 
"  He  won't  be  long  now  "  —  then,  with  delight  —  "  here 
he  is,"  for  a  man's  figure  darkened  the  door.  "  No ;  it's 
only  Joseph  Finder." 

Joseph  Finder  it  was,  and  for  once  looking  morose. 
He  had  a  tin  can  with  a  narrowish  neck  in  his  hand,  and 
put  it  down  on  the  counter  with  some  noise,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  This  time  I  am  a  customer  and  nothing  more." 
Mrs.  Mansell  received  him  as  such,  went  behind  the  count- 
er directly,  and  leaned  a  little  over,  awaiting  his  orders. 

"  Half  a  gallon  of  turps,"  said  he,  almost  rudely.  Mrs. 
Mansell  went  meekly  and  filled  his  can  fi-om  a  little 
tank  with  a  tap. 

But  Deborah,  who  never  read  books,  always  read  faces. 
She  scanned  Finder,  and  said,  "  You  seem  put  out.  Is 
there  anything  the  matter  ?  " 


38  SINGLEHEART    AND    DODBLEFACE. 

"Plenty,"  said  he;  "more  than  I  like  to  tell.  But 
she  must  know  it  sooner  or  later.  Serves  me  right,  any- 
way, for  recommending  a"  — 

He  stopped  in  time,  and  turned  away  from  Sarah  to 
Deborah,  and  said  bitterly,  "  He  never  came  to  work  at 
all.  He  fell  in  with  a  tempter  in  this  very  street,  and 
got  enticed  away  directly." 

Sarah  raised  her  hands  in  dismay,  and  uttered  not  a 
word,  but  an  inarticulate  cry  of  distress,  so  eloquent  of 
amazement  and  dismay  that  Finder's  anger  gave  way  to 
pity,  and  he  began  all  of  a  sudden  to  make  excuses  for 
the  offender,  and  lay  the  blame  on  Dick  Varney,  a  dan- 
gerous villain  with  a  cajoling  tongue,  a  pickpocket's  fin- 
gers, and  a  heart  of  stone.  He  turned  to  Sarah  now, 
and  enlarged  on  this  villain's  vices  —  said  he  had  been 
in  prison  twice,  and  it  was  he  who  was  ruining  James 
Mansell. 

But  Sarah  interrupted  all  this  :  "  Never  mind  him. 
Where  is  my  poor  husband  ?  " 

"  At  '  The  Chequers,'  my  mate  says." 

"  Give  me  my  shawl  and  bonnet,  Deborah." 

"  What  to  do  ?  "  inquired  Finder,  uneasily. 

"  To  fetch  him  away,"  was  the  dogged  reply. 

Then  at  last  the  long-hidden  truth  came  out.  "  Oh,  it 
will  not  be  the  first  time  I  have  gone  to  a  public-house 
and  stood  their  jeers  and  his  drunken  anger  for  an  hour 
or  two,  and  brought  him  home  at  last.  He  has  sworn  at 
me  before  them  all,  but  he  never  struck  me.  Ferhaps 
that  is  to  come.  I  think  it  will  come  to-day,  for  he  was 
more  violent  last  night  than  ever  I  knew  him  to  be.  I 
don't  care,  I'll  have  him  home  if  I  die  for  it." 

"Not  from  'The  Chequers,'  you  won't.  You  don't 
know  the  place ;  there  are  bad  women  there  as  well  as 
bad  men.  Why,  it's  a  boozing-ken  for  thieves  and  their 
jades.     Take  a  man  away  from  them  !  they  would  soil 


SINGLEHKART    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  39 

your  ears  and  make  your  flesh  creep,  and  perhaps  mark 
your  face  forever.  You  stay  beside  your  sister.  I  must 
go  on  with  it  now.  I'll  strike  work  at  dinner-time  for 
once  in  my  life,  and  I'll  bring  your  man  home." 

This  melted  both  the  sisters,  Sarah  most,  who  had 
been  so  cold  to  her  old  lover.  "  Oh,  thank  you,  bless 
you,  Joseph  ! "  she  sobbed. 

"  Don't  cry,  Sally,"  said  the  honest  fellow,  in  a  broken 
voice ;  "  pray  don't  cry  !  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  cry,'' 
and  he  almost  burst  out  of  the  place  for  fear  he  should 
break  down  himself,  or  say  something  kinder  than  he 
ought.  His  boy  was  waiting  outside  ;  he  sent  him  in 
for  the  turps,  and  ordered  him  to  tell  the  foreman  to 
dock  his  afternoon  time,  he  was  gone  to  look  after  the 
grainer. 

He  went  down  to  "  The  Chequers,"  and  got  there  just 
in  time  to  find  Mansell  quarrelling  with  three  black- 
guards in  the  skittle-ground.  Indeed,  before  he  could 
interfere,  one  of  them  gave  the  drunken  man  a  severe 
blow  on  the  nose  that  made  him  bleed  like  a  pig.  The 
next  moment  the  aggressor  lay  flat  on  his  back,  felled 
by  Joe  Pinder.  The  other  two  sparred  up,  but  went 
down  like  nine-pins  before  that  long,  muscular  arm,  shot 
out  straight  from  the  shoulder.  •  Then  he  seized  Mansell, 
and  said,  "The  villains  have  hurt  you;  come  and  be 
cured."  And  so,  not  giving  him  time  to  think,  he  half 
coaxed,  half  pushed  him  out  of  the  place,  and  got  him  on 
the  road  home. 

Meantime  Sarah  sat  sorrowful,  and  said  her  happy  day 
was  soon  ended,  and  she  wished  her  life  was  ended  too. 
Deborah  sat  beside  her,  and  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"One  good  thing,"  said  she,  "you  have  got  a  friend 
now,  when  most  wanted,  and  'a  friend  in  need  is  a 
friend  indeed.'  And  to  think  you  had  the  offer  of 
Joseph  Pinder,  and  could  go  and  take  James  Mansell ! " 


40  SINGLEHEAllT   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

Sarah  drew  up:  "And  would  again,"  said  she,  "with 
all  his  faults.  I  would  not  give  him  for  Joe  Finder,  nor 
any  other  man." 

"  Well,  that's  a  good  job,  as  you  are  tied  to  him," 
remarked  Deborah. 

"Do  you  think  Joseph  will  bring  him  home  ?  " 

"  If  any  man  can.    I  think  ever  so  mucli  of  that  chap." 

"  Then  don't  let  the  dinner  spoil,  at  all  events." 

Deborah  didn't  trust  herself  to  speak.  She  got  up 
resignedly  to  attend  to  the  possible  wants  of  this  deserv- 
ing husband.  Sarah  divined  that  it  cost  her  a  struggle, 
and  tried  to  gild  the  pill. 

"  You  are  a  good  sister  to  me,"  said  she. 

"  That  I  am,"  said  Deborah,  frankly.  "  But  so  are 
you  to  me ;  and  I  was  always  as  fond  of  you  as  a  cow  is 
of  her  calf." 

"  And  I  haven't  forgot  the  print,"  said  Mrs.  Mansell ; 
"but  you  see  how  I  have  been  put  about.  I  mustn't  go 
to  my  safe  even  for  you,  but  there's  half  su  sovereign  in 
the  till,  and  you  shall  have  it  before  some  fresh  trouble 
comes  to  make  me  forget." 

Deborah's  eyes  sparkled,  but  slie  said  it  wasn't  a  fit 
time,  there  were  too  many  sucking  at  her. 

"  And  that  is  true ;  but  they  can't  drain  me.  Don't 
tell  a  soul ;  I  make  a  deal  of  money  in  this  little  shop. 
I  wouldn't  give  my  Saturdays  for  five  pounds  apiece." 
Then  almost  in  a  whisper :  "  I've  got  sixty  pounds  put 
by  in  that  safe  there,  and  the  safe  fastened  to  the  wall. 
I  mustn't  touch  that  money,  'tis  for  my  darling  Lucy. 
But  there's  an  odd  half-sovereign  in  the  till,  and  it  is  for 
you.  There  are  some  beauties  at  Coverley's  over  the 
way."  Dress,  having  once  been  mentioned,  was,  of 
course,  the  dominant  substantive.  Whilst  she  was 
speaking,  she  took  out  her  keys  and  opened  the  till. 
There  was  much  less  silver  in  it  than  she  expected  to 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  41 

fiud.  She  put  both  hands  in,  and  turned  it  all  over  in  a 
moment.  There  Avas  no  half-sovereign.  "  Come  here  ! 
come  here  !  "  she  screamed ;  •'  the  till  has  been  robbed." 

"  La,  Sarah,"  cried  Deborah,  "  never  !  " 

"  But  I  say  it  has ;  there's  not  a  shilling  here  but  what 
I  have  taken  to-day." 

"  When  did  you  look  last  ?  " 

"  Yestereen  at  six,  and  counted  half  a  sovereign  and 
eighteen  shillings  in  silver.  What  will  become  of  me 
now  ?  —  there  are  thieves  about.  Heaven  knows  how 
the  goods  go,  but  this  is  some  man's  work." 

"  Then  I  wish  I  had  him,"  said  Deborah,  and  she 
thrust  out  her  great  arms  and  long,  sinewy  fingers.  The 
words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  lips,  and  the  formidable 
fingers  still  extended,  knuckles  downward,  when  James 
Mansell,  his  shirt  and  trousers  covered  with  blood,  was 
thrust  in  at  the  door  by  Joseph  Pinder ;  his  own  white 
dress  had  suffered  by  the  contact. 

Both  women  screamed  at  sight  of  him,  and  Sarah 
cried,  "  Oh  !  they  have  murdered  him." 

Pinder  said  hastily,  *'  No,  no,  he's  none  the  worse  — 
only  a  bloody  nose." 

"  Then  he  is  cheap  served,"  said  Deborah. 

"  Ay,  but  let  me  tell  you  I  came  just  in  time  ;  there 
were  three  of  them  on  to  him." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Sarah,  "  the  cowards  !  " 

Mr.  Mansell  caught  at  the  word  "  cowards."  Cried  he, 
"  Let's  go  and  fight  'em." 

"  Not  if  I  know  it,"  said  Pinder,  stopping  his  rush, 
and  holding  him  like  a  vise. 

"  What,  are  you  turned  coward  and  all  ?  Look  here, 
he  knocked  'em  all  three  down  like  nine-pins." 

"  Then  there  let  'em  lie,"  said  this  rational  hero. 

"  I  sha'n't,"  said  the  irrational  one.  "  I'll  go  and  just 
kick  'em  up  again,  and  then  "  — 


42  SINGLEHEAIIT   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

But  the  next  iirocess  was  not  revealed,  because  in 
illustrating  the  first  ^Ir.  Mansell  sat  down  on  the  floor 
with  a  heavy  bump,  and  had  to  be  picked  up  by  Pinder 
and  lectured.  "  What  you  want  just  now  is  not  more 
fighting,  but  a  wash,  and  then  a  sleep." 

Sarah  proposed  an  amendment :  "  What  he  wants 
most,  Mr.  Pinder,  is  a  heart  and  a  conscience." 

"Is  that  all  ?  "  said  the  impenitent. 

Deborah  giggled.  But  Mr.  Mansell  had  better  have 
kept  his  humor  for  a  less  serious  situation.  The  much- 
enduring  wife  turned  upon  him  the  moment  he  spoke : 

"  After  all  you  ])romised  and  swore  to  me  this  day. 
Good  work  and  good  money  brought  to  your  hand  by  one 
we  had  no  claim  on,  either  you  or  I,  a  good  home  to 
come  to,  a  good  dinner  cooked  with  loving  hands,  and  a 
good  wife  and  daughter  that  couuted  the  minutes  till 
they  could  see  you  eating  it.  What  are  you  made  of  ? 
You  are  neither  a  husband,  nor  a  father,  nor  a  man." 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE,  43 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  ! "  roared  the  culprit. 

But  her  blood  was  fairly  up,  and  instead  of  flinching 
from  him,  she  came  at  him  like  a  lioness. 

"  No :  I  have  held  my  tongue  long  enough  and  screened 
your  faults,  and  hid  my  trouble  from  the  world.  What 
right  have  such  men  as  you  to  marry  and  get  children 
that  they  hate  and  would  beggar  if  they  could,  as  well 
as  their  miserable  wives  ?  "  She  put  her  hand  suddenly 
to  her  forehead  as  a  keen  pain  shot  through  it.  "  He 
will  drive  me  wild.  If  you  are  a  sister  of  mine,  take 
him  out  of  my  sight."  She  stamped  her  foot  on  the 
ground,  and  her  eyes  flashed.  "  D'ye  hear  ?  Take  him 
out  of  my  sight  before  my  heart  bursts  my  bosom,  and 
I  curse  the  hour  I  ever  saw  him." 

Deborah  had  bundled  him  into  the  parlor  before  this 
climax  came,  and  she  now  got  him  out  of  sight  alto- 
gether, saying,  "  Come,  Jemmy  I  '  A  wise  man  never 
faces  an  angry  woman.'  " 

As  for  Sarah,  she  sank  down  upon  a  seat,  languid  and 
limp ;  and  after  the  thunder  the  rain. 

Pinder,  with  instinctive  good-breeding,  had  turned  to 
go.  But  now  he  couldn't.  The  woman  he  had  always 
loved,  and  Avho  had  given  him  so  much  pain,  sat  quietly 
weeping,  as  one  Avho  could  no  longer  struggle.  He 
looked  at  her,  and,  to  use  the  expressive  words  of  Script- 
ure, his  bowels  yearned  over  her.  He  did  not  know 
what  he  could  say  to  do  her  any  good,  yet  he  couldn't  go 
without  trying.  He  said  gently,  "  Don't  despair ;  while 
there's  life  there's  hope." 


44  SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLE  FACE. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  said  gently,  "  There's 
none  for  me  now." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  if  that  Varney  could  be  got  out  of  the  way, 
he  would  listen  to  reason.  He  is  the  wicked  one  ;  your 
man  is  only  weak." 

"Where's  the  odds  if  they  do  the  same  thing  ?  But 
it  is  very  good  of  you  to  make  excuses  for  him." 

She  then  took  out  a  white  pocket-handkerchief  and 
meekly  dried  her  eyes ;  then  she  stood  up  and  said,  in 
a  grave,  thoughtful  way,  —  which  he  recognized  as  her 
old  manner,  —  "  Let  me  look  at  you." 

She  took  a  step  toward  him,  but  he  did  not  move 
toward  her.  On  the  contrary,  he  stood  there  and  fidgeted, 
and  when  she  looked  full  at  him  he  hung  down  his  head 
a  little. 

"  Nay,  look  at  me,"  said  she  ;  "  you  have  done  nought 
to  be  ashamed  of." 

Being  so  challenged,  he  did  look  at  her,  but  not  so 
full  as  she  did  at  him.  It  was  a  peculiarity  of  this 
woman  that  she  could  gaze  into  a  man's  face  without 
either  seeming  bold  or  feeling  ashamed.  She  never  took 
her  eye  off  Finder's  face  during  the  whole  dialogue 
which  follows.  Said  she,  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  and 
her  eye  perusing  him  all  the  time,  "  You  must  be  a  very 
good  young  man.  Years  ago  you  courted  me  honorably, 
and  I  was  barely  civil  to  you." 

Pinder  said  gently,  "  You  never  deceived  me." 

"  No,  but  I  never  valued  you.  Now  that  I  am  older, 
I  have  noticed  that  for  a  woman  to  refuse  a  man  makes 
him  as  bitter  as  gall.  Dear  heart !  do  but  wound  his 
vanity,  and  his  love,  such  as  'tis,  turns  to  spite  directly ; 
but  instead  of  that  you  have  always  spoken  respectful 
of  me,  for  it  has  come  round  to  my  ears  ;  and  you  have 
held  aloof  from  me,  and  that  was  wise  and  proper,  till 
you  saw  I  was  in  trouble,  and  then  you  came  to  me  to  do 


STNGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  45 

me  a  good  turn  in  the  right  way  through  my  unfortunate 
husband.  You  are  one  of  a  thousand,  and  may  God 
reward  you  ! " 

By  this  time  Finder's  eyes  had  gradually  sunk  to  the 
ground  before  the  calm  gaze  and  the  intelligent  praise 
of  one  who  was  still  very  dear  to  him. 

"  Have  you  done  ? "  said  he  dryly,  inspecting  the 
floor. 

"  Yes,"  said  she  ;  "  I  have  thought  my  thought  and 
said  my  say." 

''Well,  then,  I  should  like  to  tell  you  something.  It 
makes  a  man  better  to  love  a  good  Avoman,  even  if  he 
can't  win  her  and  wear  her.  I  studied  you  when  you 
were  a  maid,  and  it  set  me  against  a  many  vulgar  vices. 
I  have  had  my  eye  on  you  since  you  were  a  wife,  and 
that  has  made  me  respect  you  still  more,  and  respect 
virtue.  You  have  a  dangerous  enemy  in  that  Dick 
Varney.  Against  him  you  want  a  friend.  I  seem  to 
feel  somehow  as  if  I  was  called  upon  to  be  that  friend, 
and  I  do  assure  you,  Sarah,  that  I  am  not  so  unreason- 
able as  I  was  when  the  disappointment  was  fresh.  I 
should  have  been  downright  happy  to-day  if  things  had 
gone  to  your  mind.  After  all,  the  day  isn't  over  yet, 
and  I've  struck  work.  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  drink 
and  Dick  Varney  can't  spoil,  confound  them  ?  " 

Thus  urged,  and  being  beset  with  troubles,  and  feel- 
ing already  the  rare  comfort  and  support  of  a  male 
friend,  she  confessed  she  had  another  trouble  —  a  small 
one  comparatively,  but  not  a  small  one  on  the  top  of  the 
others.  She  was  being  robbed.  She  told  him  all  about 
it,  and  with  a  workman's  quickness  he  asked  to  see  the 
lock  of  the  till. 

He  examined  this  closely,  and  detected  at  once,  by 
abrasions  in  the  metal,  that  it  had  been  opened  with  a 
pioklock,  not  a  key.  He  told  her  so,  and  she  said  she 
was  none  the  wiser. 


46  SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  I  am,  though,"  said  he.  "  It  shows  that  nobody  in 
the  house  has  done  it.  It's  professional.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  this  was  Varney  and  all.  Why,  he's  an  old 
hand  at  this  game,  and  has  been  in  trouble  for  no  other 
thing.     Does  he  ever  come  into  your  shop?" 

"He  may.     I  don't  know  him  by  sight." 

Pinder  reflected.  "James  Mansell  tells  him  every- 
thing, you  may  be  sure,  and  it's  just  like  the  scoundrel 
to  steal  in  here  and  rob  the  wife  at  home,  and  ruin  the 
husband  abroad.'" 

Then  he  thought  again,  and  presently  slapped  his 
thigh  with  satisfaction,  for  he  thought  he  saw  a  way  to 
turn  all  this  to  profit. 

*'  If  we  can  only  catch  that  Varney,  and  give  him  five 
years'  penal,  —  it  won't  be  less,  being  an  old  offender,  — 
Mansell  will  lose  his  tempter,  and  then  he'll  listen  to 
you  and  me,  strike  drink,  go  in  for  work,  and  be  a  much 
happier  man,  and  you  a  happy  woman." 

"  Oh,  these  are  comforting  words  !  "  said  poor  Sarah. 
"  But  how  am  I  to  catch  the  villain  ?  " 

"  Others  must  do  that.  You  go  to  the  police  station, 
see  the  superintendent,  and  make  your  complaint.  I'll 
come  after  you,  and  talk  to  Mr.  Steele,  the  detective ; 
he  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  will  soon  know  all  about  it. 
A  drunken  thief  is  as  leaky  as  the  rest.  But  you  must 
keep  your  own  counsel ;  your  sister  has  a  good  heart, 
but  she  is  a  chatterbox,  and  out  every  evening  in  half  a 
dozen  houses.  I  don't  like  to  go  with  you  because  of 
the  blood  on  my  clothes ;  but  if  you  will  start  at  once, 
I  will  change  mj^  coat  and  join  you  at  the  station,  and 
bring  you  back." 

Sarah  carried  out  these  instructions  with  her  usual 
fidelity.  She  ascertained  that  her  husband  was  lying 
fast  asleep  upon  the  bed;  she  put  on  her  shawl  and 
bonnet,  confided  Lucy  and  the  shop  to  Deborah,  and 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  47 

when  the  latter  asked  where  she  was  going,  said  dryly, 
"  There  and  back."     With  that  she  vanished. 

"  There,  now,"  said  Deborah,  '•  I  owe  that  to  you,  Mr. 
Pinder." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  When  they  have  got  a  nice  young  man  to  tell  their 
minds  to,  they  don't  waste  words  on  a  sister." 

''  Well,  you  needn't  grudge  me,"  said  he.  "  It's  five 
years  since  she  spoke  a  word  to  me."  So  then  he  re- 
tired in  his  turn,  and  Deborah  had  only  the  customers 
and  little  Lucy  to  talk  to. 

The  customers  of  this  little  shop,  accustomed  to  the 
grave,  modest  Sarah,  must  have  been  a  little  surprised 
at  the  humors  of  her  substitute. 

The  first  to  be  astonished  was  a  gamekeeper.  He 
came  in,  spruce  in  velveteen  jacket  and  leathern  gaiters, 
from  the  country.  He  stared  at  Deborah,  none  the  less 
that  she  happened  just  then  to  be  whistling  a  poacher's 
song. 

"  Why,  Where's  the  mistress  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Gone  after  the  master." 

"  And  where's  the  master  ?  " 

"  Gone  before  the  mistress." 

"  I  want  a  pound  o'  powder." 

"  Well,  money  will  buy  it.  What  powder  ?  Emery- 
powder,  putty-powder,  violet-powder  ?  " 

"  No,  gunpowder,  to  be  sure." 

Deborah  recoiled :  "  I  wouldn't  touch  it  for  a  pension." 

The  gamekeeper  laughed.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  are 
a  pretty  shop  woman." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Deborah,  coquettishly,  "  and  I'm  sure 
you  are  a  beautiful  gamekeeper." 

He  took  a  considerable  time  to  comprehend  this  retort; 
when  he  had  mastered  the  difficulty,  he  said,  "  Well,  let 
us  trade.  You'll  beat  me  at  talk.  Powder  isn't  loose  j 
it's  in  a  canister," 


48  SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

"  Oh,"  said  Deborah,  "  you  seem  to  know  all  about  it. 
Where  does  she  keep  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  there  'tis,  right  under  your  nose." 

"Well,  I  can't  see  with  my  nose,  can  I  ?  " 

She  took  it  and  put  it  rather  gingerly  on  the  counter. 
"  Now  before  it  goes  off  and  sends  us  all  to  heaven,  or 
somewhere,  what  is  the  price  of  it,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  seller  sets  the  price,"  said  he. 

"  All  right,"  said  she.  "  Ten  shillings  1  See  what  a 
lot  you  can  kill  with  it." 

"The  mistress  always  makes  it  half  a  crown." 

"Ay,"  said  Deborah,  "she  is  a  hard  woman.  You 
give  me  a  shilling,  and  I'll  only  charge  you  eighteen- 
pence." 

While  he  was  counting  out  the  money,  a  keen  whistle 
was  heard.  Deborah's  quick  ears  caught  it  directly: 
"  Is  that  for  you  ?  "  said  she. 

"No;  more  likely  for  you." 

"All  the  better.  'Whistle  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my 
lad,'"  said  she,  directing  the  invitation  out  into  the 
street. 

"  I'd  step  out  and  whistle  if  I  thought  that,"  said  the 
gamekeeper,  showing  his  whistle.     "  Shall  I  try  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

It's  a  man's  part  to  try, 
And  a  woman's  to  deny. 
And  now  you'd  better  fly, 

for  here  comes  our  family  sponge.  Well,  he  does  shake 
off  liquor  quick,  I  must  say  that  for  him." 

James  Mansell  came  through  the  parlor,  clean  washed 
and  very  neatly  dressed. 

"Mrs.  Smart,"  said  he,  civilly. 

"  Mr.  Mansell,  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir.  It's  you  for 
quick  recoveries.     Bloody  noses  is  good  for  the  brain. 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  49 

apparently,"  suggested  Deborah,  "  likewise  a  little  repose 
alter  the  fatigue  of  drinking  and  fighting." 

"  I  did  take  forty  winks." 

"  Well,  sir,  and  now  you  are  fortified,  what's  the  next 
order  ?  Another  cup  of  coffee,  warranted  to  contain  a 
little  chiccory,  and  a  deal  of  bullock's  liver,  acorns,  burned 
rags,  and  muck  ?  " 

"No;  after  this  last  experience  I've  forsworn  all 
liquids  except  juicy  meat  and  rotten  potatoes.  And  I 
should  feel  greatly  obliged  if  you  would  prepare  me  a 
nice  hot  steak,  and  fry  me  some  onions  nice  and  brown, 
as  you  alone  can  fry  them." 

"  It  is  the  least  any  woman  can  do  for  such  a  civil- 
spoken  gentleman,"  said  Deborah,  and  she  dived  at  once 
into  her  kitchen,  telling  him  to  mind  the  shop.  She 
little  thought  that  his  great  object  was  to  get  rid  of  herJ 

He  watched  her  out,  and  then  went  to  the  shop-door 
and  looked  out.  It  was  Varney's  whistle  that  had  drawn 
him,  and  that  worthy  was  waiting,  and  upon  Mansell's 
invitation  came  cautiously  in.  Never  was  thief  more 
plainly  marked  on  a  human  being.  His  little,  lank, 
wriggling  body  reminded  one  of  a  weasel,  and  his  eye- 
brows seemed  to  spring  from  his  temples  and  meet  on 
the  bridge  of  his  nose.  The  eyes  thus  framed  could  not 
keep  still  a  moment.  They  were  like  a  hare's  ears,  in 
constant  alarm.  Between  this  man  and  Mansell  an  eager 
dialogue  took  place,  rapid  and  low,  which  nobody  heard 
but  themselves.  But  any  one  who  saw  the  speakers 
would  feel  sure  those  two  were  plotting  some  vile 
thing. 

Something  or  other  was  definitely  settled,  even  in  that 
short  time,  and  then  Varney,  who  was  ill  at  ease  in  that 
place,  invited  Mansell  to  turn  out  at  once. 

Mansell  objected  that  he  was  famished,  and  dinner  was 
being  prepared. 


50  SINGLEHEART   AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  other;  "I  won't  stay  here.  You 
follow  me  to  Buck's  dining-room ;  and  mind,  no  more 
liquor  for  me  to-day.     It  will  be  a  ticklish  job." 

He  wriggled  away,  and  Mansell  took  his  hat  and 
called  down  the  kitchen-stairs  :  "  Mrs.  Smart  —  Deborah 
—  please  come  up  here,  and  attend  to  the  shop.  I'm 
wanted  for  a  job." 

Deborah  raised  no  objection,  but  she  resolved  on  the 
spot  that  the  steak  she  had  twice  prepared  for  a  fool 
should  now  be  eaten  by  a  rational  being,  and  to  make 
quite  sure  of  this  she  would  eat  it  herself.  So  she  put  a 
little  cloth  on  a  tray,  with  the  steakj  and  two  potatoes, 
and  ran  up  with  it  all,  and  put  this  savory  supper  on  the 
flap,  and  had  just  made  her  first  incision,  when  in  came 
one  of  the  little  mites  I  have  referred  to,  intelligible  to 
Sarah  alone.  The  mite  rapped  the  counter  with  a  penny, 
Deborah  left  her  steak  and  faced  him. 

"  What  can  I  serve  you,  sir  ?  " 

The  mite  hammered  the  counter  with  his  copper. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Deborah,  "  I  see  what  I  am  to  have  out 
of  you ;  but  what  are  you  to  have  for  all  that  money  ?  " 
Then  she  leaned  over  the  child :  "  Is  it  baccy  ?  Is  it 
soap  ?  It  should  be  soap  if  I  was  your  mother,  you 
little  pig.  You  won't  tell  me,  eh  ?  It's  a  dead  secret. 
Let's  try  another  way  ! "  And  she  put  down  the  likeliest 
articles  one  after  another.  "There,  a  penn'orth  o'  baccy 
for  father ;  a  penn'orth  o'  soap ;  a  penn'orth  o'  lollipops." 
The  child  grabbed  the  lollipops  in  a  moment  and  left  the 
copper,  and  Deborah  dashed  back  to  her  steak,  mutter- 
ing, "  Sally  would  have  known  what  he  wanted  by  the 
color  of  his  hair." 

There  was  a  run  on  the  shop.  For  every  three  mouth- 
fuls  of  steak,  a  penny  customer.  Deborah  despatched 
them  how  she  could,  then  dashed  back  to  her  steak  —  in 
vain :    it  was  an  endless  va  et  vient.     The  last  was   a 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  51 

sturdy  little  boy  who  came  and  banged  down  a  penny, 
and  in  a  wonderful  bass  voice  for  his  size  cried,  "  Bull's- 
eyes."  Deborah,  in  imitation  of  his  style,  banged  down 
a  ready  pennyworth  of  bull's-eyes,  then  banged  the 
penny  into  an  iron  basin,  then  dashed  back  and  hacked 
away  at  her  steak.  '•  Oh,  dear ! "  said  she,  "  I  wish  a 
shilling  would  come  in  and  then  a  lull  instead  of  this 
continual  torrent  of  fiery,  untamed  farthing  pieces." 
She  hadn't  half  finished  her  steak  when  Mrs.  Mansell 
and  Finder  came  home. 

"  How  is  he  now  ?  "  was  Sarah's  first  word. 

"  Sober  as  a  judge,  and  gone  out  for  a  job ;  and  if  it  is 
all  the  same  to  everybody,  I  ask  just  ten  minutes'  peace 
to  eat  my  supper."  Then  Deborah  caught  up  the  tray 
and  fled  into  the  kitchen. 

She  had  not  gone  long  when  a  detective  in  plain  clothes 
looked  in,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  there  was  news.  A 
female  detective  had  been  put  on  to  Varney  with  rare 
success :  she  had  listened  in  the  bar  of  an  eating-house, 
and  had  picked  up  the  whole  story  —  the  kitchen  was 
deserted  every  night ;  the  servant  was  out  gallivanting ; 
Varney  had  come  in  through  the  kitchen  and  robbed  the 
till,  and  to-night  he  was  going  to  rob  the  safe  or  some- 
thing. 

"  Now,"  said  Steele,  "  get  my  men  in  without  the  serv- 
ant knowing,  and  then  send  her  out,  and  we  shall  nab 
the  bloke  to  a  certainty." 

Pinder  acquiesced,  but  Sarah  began  to  exhibit  weak- 
ness. "  Oh,  dear  1 "  said  she,  '•  thieves  and  police,  and 
perhaps  pistols ! " 

Steele  whispered  to  Pinder,  ''  Get  her  out  of  the  way, 
or  she'll  spill  the  treacle."  Pinder  persuaded  her  to  go 
into  James's  room  with  the  child  until  they  should  send 
for  her.  She  consented  very  readily.  Then  Steele  let 
in  a  policeman,  and  hid  him  behind  a  screen  in  the 


62  SINGLEHEAKT   AND   DOUHLEFACB. 

parlor.  Two  more  were  hidden  in  an  empty  house  oppo- 
site, watching  every  move.  Then  Finder  put  up  the 
shutters  and  darkened  the  shop.  Now  the  question  was 
how  to  get  Deborah  out  of  the  house.  Finder  had  to  go 
and  ask  Sarah  if  she  coukl  manage  that.  *'In  a  minute/' 
said  she.  She  came  down,  and  went  into  the  kitchen 
with  ten  shillings,  and  told  Deborah  she  should  have  her 
print  gown  in  spite  of  them  all.  Then  Deborah  was  keen 
to  get  out  before  the  shops  closed,  and  in  due  course  the 
confederates  heard  her  go  out  and  bang  the  kitchen- 
door. 

Now  there  was  no  saying  positively  whether  Varney 
was  on  the  watch  or  not ;  and  if  he  was,  he  might  make 
his  attempt  in  a  few  minutes,  or  wait  an  hour  or  two. 
And  as  he  was  an  old  hand,  he  would  probably  look  all 
round  the  house  to  see  if  there  was  danger.  Every 
light  had  to  be  put  out  and  the  shutters  drawn,  and  the 
screen  carefully  placed. 

They  closed  the  parlor-door,  and  hid  in  the  parlor. 

"  But  how  is  my  man  to  get  in  ?  "  Sarah  whispered. 

One  of  the  black,  undistinguishable  figures  replied  to 
her,  "  Easy  enough,  only  I  hope  he  won't  come  this  two 
hours  :  he  would  spoil  all." 

"  Not  come  to  his  supper !  Then  that  will  be  a  sign 
he  is  not  sober.     I'm  all  of  a  tremble." 

"  Hush ! " 

"What?  thieves?" 

"  No  ;  but  pray  don't  talk.  He'll  come  in  like  a  cat, 
you  may  be  sure.     Hark  ! " 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  kitchen-window,"  whispered  Steele. 

Now  Sarah  was  silent,  but  panted  audibly  in  the 
darkness. 

By  and  by  a  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs.  Then 
silence  —  another  creaking  step.  The  watchers  huddled 
behind  the  screen. 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  53 

What  now  took  place  they  could  only  divine  in  part. 

But  I  will  describe  it  from  the  other  side  of  the 
parlor-door. 

A  man  opened  the  kitchen-door  softly,  and  stepped  in 
lightly  and  noiselessly  as  a  cat. 

He  had  a  dark  lantern,  and  flashed  it  one  half-moment 
to  show  him  the  place.  In  that  moment  was  revealed  a 
face  with  a  very  small  black  mask.  Small  as  it  was,  it 
effectually  disguised  the  man,  and  made  his  eyes  look 
terrible  with  the  excitement  of  crime.  He  opened  the 
parlor-door,  flashed  his  light  in  for  a  moment,  then  closed 
the  door.  That  was  a  trying  moment  to  the  watchers. 
They  feared  he  would  examine  the  room. 

Then  the  man  stepped  softly  to  the  kitchen-door, 
opened  it,  and  whispered,  ','  Coast  clear :  come  on ! " 
Another  man  came  in  on  tiptoe.  The  first-comer  handed 
him  the  light. 

"  No,"  whispered  the  other,  "  you  hold  the  light.  Give 
me  the  key." 

Then  the  first-comer  opened  the  bull's-eye  direct  on 
the  safe,  and  gave  the  second  man  a  bright  new  key, 
evidently  forged  for  this  job.  The  safe  was  opened  by 
the  second  man.  He  looked,  and  uttered  an  ejaculation 
of  surprise.  Then  he  plunged  his  hands  in,  and  there 
was  a  musical  clatter  that  was  heard  and  understood  in 
the  next  room,  and  the  watchers  stole  out  softly. 

"  Here's  a  haul !  "  cried  the  man.  "  Come  and  reckon 
'em  on  the  counter.  Why,  there's  more  than  fifty,  I 
know."  He  put  them  down  in  a  heap  on  the  counter, 
and  instantly  the  parlor-door  opened,  and  a  powerful 
bull's-eye  shot  its  light  upon  the  glittering  coin.  The 
man  stood  dumfounded.  The  other,  with  a  yell,  dashed 
at  the  kitchen-door,  tore  it  open,  and  received  the  fire  of 
another  bull's-eye  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  He  stag- 
gered back,  and  in  a  moment  was  at  the  shop-door,  and 


54  SINGLEHI'^ART   AND   DOUBLEFACB. 

opened  it :  the  key  was  in  it  that  James  might  be  ad- 
mitted if  he  came.  Another  bull's-eye  met  him  there, 
held  by  a  policeman,  who  stepped  in,  and  bade  his  mate 
remain  outside. 

The  shop  was  now  well  lighted  with  all  these  vivid 
gleams  concentrated  on  the  stolen  gold,  and  every  now 
and  then  playing  upon  the  masked  faces  and  ghastly 
cheeks  and  glittering  eyes  of  the  burglars. 

Steele  surveyed  his  trapped  vermin  grimly  for  a 
moment  or  two.     He  felt  escape  was  impossible. 

"  Now,  Dick  Varney,"  said  he,  "  you  are  wanted.  Hand- 
cuff him."  The  smaller  figure  made  no  resistance. 
"  Now  who's  your  pal  ?  Don't  know  him  by  his  cut. 
Come,  my  man,  off  with  that  mask,  and  show  us  your 
ugly  mug."  He  was  going  to  help  him  oif  with  it ;  but 
the  man  caught  up  a  knife  that  Deborah  had  left  on  the 
counter. 

"  Touch  me  if  you  dare !  " 

"  Oh,  that's  the  game,  is  it  ? "  said  Steele  sternly. 
"  Draw  staves,  men.  Now  don't  you  try  that  game  with 
me,  my  bloke.  Pling  down  that  knife,  and  respect  the 
law,  or  you'll  lie  on  that  floor  with  your  skull  split 
open."  The  man  flung  the  knife  down  savagely.  "And 
now  who  are  you  ?  " 

The  man  tore  his  mask  off  with  a  snarl  of  rage. 

"I'm  the  master  of  the  house!" 

He  rang  these  words  out  like  a  trumpet.  A  faint 
moan  Avas  heard  in  the  parlor. 

"  Gammon  ! "  said  Steele  contemptuously. 

"  Ask  Dick  Varney,  ask  Joe  Pinder  there,"  said  the 
man.     "  Ask  anybody." 

,"  Ask  nobody  but  me,"  said  the  miserable  wife,  coming 
suddenly  forward.  "He  is  my  husband,  sir,  and  God 
help  me  ! " 

"  D'ye  hear  ?  "  cried  the  raging  villain,  mortified  to 


SINGLEHEAKT   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  55 

the  core,  yet  exultant  in  his  revenge :  "  This  house  is 
mine,  this  shop  is  mine,  that  woman  is  mine,  and  this 
money  is  mine.^'  He  clutclied  the  gold,  and  put  it  in- 
solently into  his  breeches  pockets.  "Take  your  hand 
off  that  man,  Bobby." 

"  Xot  likely,"  said  Steele.  "  A  thief  caught  in  the 
act." 

"A  thief!  Why,  he  is  my  servant  doing  my  business, 
under  my  orders  :  one  of  my  servants.  My  wife  there, 
she's  my  servant  in  law :  collared  my  money  and  hid  it 
away  ;  I  ordered  another  of  my  servants  to  open  the 
safe  and  get  me  back  my  own.  He's  here  by  my 
authority." 

"  Why  were  you  in  masks,  my  bold  blackguard  ? " 
asked  Steele. 

"Oh,  pray  don't  anger  him,  sir,"  said  poor  Sarah. 
"  Yes,  James,  you  are  the  master.  It  was  all  a  mistake : 
we  had  no  idea  —  Oh  ! "  She  tottered,  and  j)ut  her 
hand  to  her  brow. 

Steele  helped  her  to  a  chair.  So  small  an  incident  did 
not  interrupt  her  master's  eloquence.  "  Respect  the  law, 
says  you  ?  Pretty  limbs  of  the  law  you  are,  that  don't 
know  the  law  of  husband  and  wife." 

Long  before  this  Steele  had  seen  plainly  enough  that 
he  was  in  the  wrong  box.  "  We  know  the  law  well 
enough,"  said  he  dejectedly.  "  It's  a  little  one-sided,  but 
it's  the  law.     Come,  men,  loose  that  vagabond." 

"  He  shall  bring  an  action  for  false  imprisonment." 

"  No,  he  won't." 

"  Why  not  ?     He  has  got  the  law  on  his  side." 

"  And  we  have  got  his  little  mask,  and  his  little  ante- 
cedents on  ours." 

Varney  whipped  out  of  the  place,  and  at  the  same 
time  Deborah  opened  the  kitchen-door  and  stood  aghast. 

"Come,  men,"  said  Steele,  "clear  out:   we   are  only 


66  SINGLEHEART   AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

making  mischief  between  man  and  wife,  and  she'll  be 
the  sufferer,  poor  thing  !  " 

"No,"  said  James  Mansell  authoritatively.  "I'm  the 
master,  and  since  you  have  heard  one  story,  I'll  trouble 
you  to  stay  and  hear  the  other.  I'm  the  one  that  is 
being  robbed  —  of  my  money,  and  my  wife's  affections, 
and  my  good  name." 

"  0  James ! "  gasped  Sarah,  "  pray  don't  say  so. 
Don't  think  so  for  a  moment." 

Pie  ignored  her  entirely  :  never  looked  at  her,  but  went 
on  to  the  detective,  "  My  wife  here  hid  my  money  away 
from  me." 

"  To  pay  my  master's  rent,  and  make  his  child  a  lady," 
put  in  Sarah. 

"  And  now  she  and  her  old  sweetheart  there  "  — 

"  Sweetheart !     I  never  had  but  thee." 

"  They  have  put  the  mark  of  a  thief  on  me  in  this  town. 
So  be  it.     I  leave  it  forever.     I'm  off  to  America." 

He  marched  to  the  street  door,  then  turned  to  shoot 
his  last  dart:  ''With  my  money" — and  he  slapped  his 
pockets  —  "  and  viy  liberty  "  —  and  he  waved  his  hat. 

"  But  I'll  have  your  life,"  hissed  Pinder,  and  strode  at 
him,  with  murder  in  his  eyes. 

But  Sarah  Mansell,  who  sat  there  crushed,  and  seemed 
scarcely  sensible,  bounded  to  her  feet  in  a  moment,  and 
seized  Pinder  with  incredible  vigor. 

"  Touch  him  if  you  dare  ! "  cried  she. 

And  would  you  believe  it,  mates,  she  had  no  sooner 
stopped  him  effectually  than  she  turned  weaker  than 
ever,  and  sank  all  limp  against  the  man  she  had  seized 
with  a  clutch  of  steel  ?  Then  he  had  nothing  to  do  but 
support  her  faint  head  against  his  manly  breast,  and  so, 
arrested  by  woman's  vigor,  which  is  strong  for  a  moment, 
and  conquered  by  woman's  weakness,  which  is  invinci- 
ble, he  half  led,  half  lifted  her  tenderly  back  to  her  seat. 


SINGLEHEART  AND   DOUBLEFACE.  57 

This  defence  of  her  insulter  was  the  last  feat  that  day  of 
uuconquerable  love. 

The  policemen  went  out  softly,  and  cast  looks  of 
manly  pit}''  behind  them. 

Soon  after  the  stunning  blow  came  the  agony  of  an 
outraged,  deserted,  and  still  loving  wife.  But  Deborah 
ruslied  in  with  Lucy  in  her  arms,  and  forced  the  mother 
to  embrace  her  child,  then  wreathed  her  long  arms  round 
them  both,  and  they  sobbed  together.  Honest  Joe 
Pinder  set  his  face  to  the  wall,  but  there  his  conceal- 
ment ended ;  he  blubbered  aloud  with  all  his  heart. 


58  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 


CHAPTER    V. 

The  first  burst  of  distress  was  followed  by  the  torment 
of  suspense :  for  several  days,  at  Sarah's  request,  the 
friendly  police  watched  the  steamboats,  to  give  her  an 
opportunity  of  appeasing  her  burglar  ;  and  all  this  time 
her  eye  was  always  on  the  street  by  day,  her  ear  ever  on 
the  watch  for  the  music  of  the  blackguard's  step.  She 
kept  hoping  something  from  paternal  affection :  why 
should  he  abandon  Lucy  ?     She  had  never  offended  him. 

But  in  time  proof  was  brought  her  that  he  had  actually 
levanted  in  a  sailing-vessel  bound  for  New  York. 

I  do  not  practise  vivisection,  and  will  not  detail  all 
the  sufferings  of  an  insulted  and  deserted  wife  —  suffer- 
ings all  the  more  keen  that  she  was  a  woman  of  great 
spirit  and  rare  merit,  and  admired  for  her  looks  and  her 
qualities  by  everybody  except  her  husband.  Public 
sympathy  was  oifered  her  :  a  Liverpool  journal  got  the 
incident  from  the  police,  and  dealt  with  it  in  a  paragraph 
headed,  "  Every  man  his  own  burglar." 

The  writer  of  paragraphs,  after  the  manner  of  his  class, 
seasoned  the  dish  from  his  own  spice-box.  A  revolver 
was  levelled  at  the  auto-burglar  by  the  wife's  friend  ; 
but  the  wife  disarmed  him,  a  circumstance  the  writer 
deplored,  and  hoped  that,  should  "  sponsa-burglary  " 
recur,  even  conjugal  affection  would  respect  the  interests 
of  society,  and  let  the  bullet  take  its  course. 

Pinder  read  out  this  paragraph  or  paraphrase,  and 
translated  the  last  sentence  into  the  vulgar  tongue. 
Then  Deborah  revelled  in  it.  Sarah  was  horrified  at 
the  exposure,  and  indignant  at  a  journal  presuming  to 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  59 

meddle  with  conjugalia.  To  hear  her,  one  would  infer 
that  if  a  blackguard  should  murder  his  wife,  it  ought  to 
be  hushed  up,  all,  matters  between  husband  and  wife, 
good  or  bad,  being  secret  and  sacred,  and  all  indictments 
thereon  founded,  obtrusive,  impertinent,  and  indelicate. 

A  great  sorrow  has  often  compensations  that  do  the 
heart  no  good  at  the  moment ;  but  time  reveals  their 
importance,  and  that  they  would  have  been  comforters 
at  the  time,  could  the  sufferers  have  foreseen  what  was 
coming.  This  observation  is  not  necessarily  connected 
with  trust  in  Providence ;  yet  the  good,  who  suffer, 
should  consider  man's  inability  to  foresee  the  events  of 
a  single  day,  and  also  that  they  are  in  the  hands  of  One 
before  whom  what  we  call  the  future  lies  flat  like  a  map 
along  with  the  past  and  the  present. 

Even  my  own  brief  experience  of  human  life  has 
shown  me  the  truth  and  value  of  these  lines,  so  comfort- 
ing to  just  men  and  women  ; 

With  stead}'  mind  thy  course  of  duty  run : 

God  never  does,  nor  suffers  to  be  done, 

Aught  but  thyself  wouldst  do,  couldst  thou  foresee 

The  end  of  all  events  so  well  as  He. 

This  stor}'"  is  not  written  to  support  that  or  any  other 
theory ;  but  as  all  its  curious  incidents  lie  before  me,  I 
cannot  help  being  struck  with  the  numerous  conversions 
of  evil  into  unexpected  good  which  it  reveals. 

The  immediate  examples  are  these.  In  the  first  place, 
before  this  great  and  enduring  grief  fell  on  Sarah  INIan- 
sell,  Mr.  Joseph  Pinder  had  a  natural  but  narrow-minded 
contempt  for  Mrs.  Deborah  Smart.  He  saw  a  six-months' 
widow  husband-hunting  without  disguise.  To  put  it  in 
his  own  somewhat  rough  but  racy  language,  she  raked 
the  town  every  night  for  Ko.  2.  But  when  lasting  grief 
fell  upon  Sarah,  he  saw  this  imperfect  widow  resign  her 


GO  SINGLEHEART    AND    DUUBLEFACE. 

matrimonial  excursions  night  after  night,  and  exhaust 
her  ingenuity  to  comfort  her  sister.  Sometimes  it  was 
rough  comfort,  sometimes  it  was  the  indirect  comfort  of 
kindness  and  attention,  but  sometimes  it  was  a  tender 
sympathy  he  had  never  expected  from  so  rough  and 
ready  a  rustic.  Thereupon  Finder  and  Deborah  became 
friends,  and  as  Sarah  was  grateful,  though  sad,  this  wove 
a  threefold  cord  —  a  very  strong  one. 

The  second  good  result  was  one  that  even  the  mourn- 
ing wife  appreciated,  because  she  was  a  mother,  and 
looked  to  the  future. 

Seeing  her  deserted  and  in  need  of  help,  Joseph 
Finder  became  her  servant,  and  yet  her  associate.  For 
a  fair  salary  he  threw  himself  into  the  business,  and 
very  soon  improved  and  enlarged  it.  Tinned  meats, 
soups,  and  fruits  were  just  then  fighting  for  entrance 
into  the  stomach  of  the  prejudiced  Briton.  Joseph  pre- 
vailed on  the  sisters  to  taste  these,  and  select  the  good 
ones.  They  very  soon  found  that  amongst  the  trash 
there  were  some  comestible  treasures,  such  as  the  Boston 
baked  beans,  Australian  beef  briskets,  and  an  American 
ox-tail  soup ;  also,  the  pears  of  one  firm  in  Delaware,  and 
the  peaches  of  another. 

Finder,  who,  like  many  workmen,  was  an  ingenious 
fellow,  had  invested  his  savings  in  a  type-writer,  and  he 
printed  short  notices,  and  inundated  inns  and  private 
kitchens  with  the  praises  of  the  above  articles,  and  per- 
sonally invited  many  cooks  and  small  housekeepers  to 
the  use  of  his  cheap  American  soup  for  gravies.  "  Where," 
said  he,  "  is  the  sense  of  your  boiling  down  leg  of  beef 
for  gravies  and  stews  and  things  ?  Here  are  six  rich. 
stews,  or  hashes,  for  tenpeuce,  and  no  trouble  but  to  take 
it  out  of  a  can." 

One  day  Sarah  showed  him,  with  sorrowful  pride, 
James   Mansell's   "panels,"  as   he  called  them.      That 


SINGLEHEAllT   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  61 

personage,  before  he  took  to  drink,  was  an  enthusiast  in 
his  art,  and  he  had  produced  about  fifteen  specimens  on 
thin  panels  two  feet  square.  They  were  really  magnifi- 
cent. Joseph  cleaned  and  varnished  them  ;  then  caught 
a  moderate  grainer,  and  made  him  study  them ;  then  put 
one  or  two  of  them  in  a  window,  with  a  notice :  "  Grain- 
ing done  in  first-rate  style  by  a  pupil  of  James  Mansell." 
The  trade  soon  heard,  and  gave  the  young  man  a  trial. 
He  was  not  up  to  the  mark  of  his  predecessor,  but,  thanks 
to  the  models,  and  Finder  overlooking  his  work,  he  was 
accepted  by  degrees,  and  so  Mrs.  Mansell  drove  her  hus- 
band's trade  and  her  own  enlarged.  Money  flowed  in 
by  two  channels,  and  did  not  flow  out  for  "drink." 
Finder's  salary  was  not  one-tenth  part  of  the  increase 
his  zeal  and  management  brought  into  the  safe,  and  now 
there  was  no  drunkard  and  auto-burglar  to  drain  the 
wife's  purse  and  tap  the  till. 

In  the  three  years  whose  incidents  I  have  decided  not 
to  particularize,  and  so  be  tri-voluminous,  not  luminous, 
the  deserted  wife  had  purchased  the  little  shop  and 
premises  in  Green  Street,  and  had  four  hundred  pounds 
in  the  bank,  Finder  having  declared  the  London  and 
County  Bank  to  be  safer  than  a  safe. 

Lucy  Mansell  was  now  over  seven,  and  a  precocious 
girl,  partly  by  nature  (for  she  came  of  a  clever  father 
and  a  thoughtful  mother),  but  partly  by  living  not  with 
children,  but  with  grown-up  people.  As  she  inherited 
her  mother's  attention,  and  was  a  born  mimic  Jae  seemed 
to  strangers  cleverer  than  she  was.  The  sprightliness  of 
Aunt  Deborah  naturally  attracted  this  young  person,  and 
of  course  she  admired  what  at  any  young  ladies'  school  she 
would  have  been  expressly  invited  to  avoid  —  the  by-words 
and  blunt  idioms  that  garnished  Mrs.  Smart's  discourse. 

Now,  having  faithfully,  though  briefly,  chronicled  the 
small  beer,  I  come  to  the  events  of  an  exciting  day. 


62  SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

Sarah  sat  at  the  counter  sewing,  and  ready  to  serve 
customers.  Lucy  sat  at  her  knee  sewing,  and  ready  to 
run  for  whatever  might  be  wanted.  Deborah  came  up 
from  the  kitchen  with  a  rump-steak  and  some  kidneys 
in  her  market-basket,  and  thrust  them  under  her  sister's 
nose.  Deborah  was  a  connoisseur  of  raw  meat,  luckily 
for  the  establishment,  and  admired  it  when  good.  Sarah 
did  not  admire  it  at  the  best  of  times,  so  she  said,  "  I'll 
take  3"our  word." 

"Do  but  feel  it,"  persisted  Deborah.  Thereupon  Sarah 
averted  her  head. 

Deborah  warmed.  "  Wait  till  you  see  it  at  table.  I 
am  going  to  make  you  a  steak-and-kidney  pudding." 

"  Oh,  be  joyful ! "  cried  Lucy,  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Come,  there's  sense  in  the  family,"  remarked 
Deborah;  "and  if  your  mother  doesn't  enjoy  it,  I  give 
warning  at  the  table  —  that's  all." 

"  I'll  try,  sister,"  said  Sarah,  sweetly.  "  But  you  know 
an  empty  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table  is  a  poor  invita- 
tion to  eat,  and  the  stomach  is  soon  satisfied  when  the 
heart  is  sad." 

"  That  is  true,  my  poor  Sal ;  but,  dear  heart,  is  there 
never  to  be  an  end  of  fretting  for  a  man  that  left  you 
like  that,  and  has  never  sent  you  a  line  ?  " 

"That  is  my  grief.     I  am  afraid  he  is  dead." 

"Not  he.  He  has  got  plenty  more  mischief  to  do 
first.  Now  I'm  afraid  you'll  hate  me,  but  I  can't  help 
it.  '  The  u  .th  may  be  blamed,  but  it  can't  be  shamed.' 
'Twas  the  luckiest  thing  ever  happened  to  any  good 
woman  when  he  left  you,  and  you  got  a  good  servant 
instead  of  a  bad  master." 

"  If  I  only  knew  that  he  was  alive  ! "  persisted  Sarah, 
absorbed  in  her  one  idea. 

Deborah's  patience  went,  and  she  let  out  her  real 
mind.     She  had  kept  it  to  herself  about  eighteen  months, 


SINGLEHEAKT    AND    l)OUBLEFA(^E.  63 

SO  now  it  came  out  with  a  rusli.  She  set  her  arms 
akimbo — an  attitude  she  very  seldom  adopted  in  reason- 
ing with  Sarah.  "  If  so  be  as  you  are  tired  of  peace  and 
comfort,  and  money  in  both  pockets,  you  put  it  in  the 
newspapers  as  you  have  bought  these  premises,  and  got 
four  hundred  pounds  in  the  bank,  and  you  mark  my 
words,  Jemmy  Mansell  will  turn  up  in  a  month ;  but  'tis 
for  your  money  he  will  come,  not  for  you  nor  your  child." 

This  home-thrust  produced  a  greater  effect  on  Sarah 
than  Deborah  expected,  for,  as  a  rule,  Sarah  merely 
defended  her  husband  through  thick  and  thin ;  but  now 
she  was  greatly  agitated,  and  when  Deborah  came  to 
that  galling  conclusion,  she  drew  herself  up  to  her  full 
height,  and  said  sternly,  "If  I  thought  that,  I'd  tear 
him  from  my  heart,  though  I  tore  the  heart  out  of  my 
body.  Perhaps  you  think  because  I'm  single-hearted 
and  loving,  that  I  am  all  weakness.  You  don't  know 
me,  then.     When  I  do  turn,  I  turn  to  stone." 

As  she  said  this,  her  features  became  singularly  rigid, 
and  almost  cruel,  and  as  a  great  pallor  overspread  them 
at  the  same  time,  she  really  seemed  to  turn  to  marble, 
and  the  gentle  Sarah  was  scarcely  recognizable.  Even 
Deborah,  who  had  known  her  all  her  life,  stared  at  her, 
and  suspected  she  had  not  yet  got  to  the  bottom  of  her 
character.  Lucy  gave  the  conversation  a  lighter  turn  — 
she  thought  all  this  was  much  ado  about  nothing. 
"  Don't  you  fret  any  more,  mamma,"  said  she.  ''  If 
papa  won't  come  home,  you  marry  Uncle  Joe." 

Mrs.  Mansell  remonstrated  :  "  Lucy  dear,  for  shame  !  " 

"  '  No  shame,  no  sin  ; 
No  copper,  no  tin,' " 

said  Lucy.     "  Marry  him  bang !     Here  he  is." 
"  Hush  ! "  and  Sarah  reddened  like  fire. 
Pinder  opened  the  shop-door,  and  came  briskly  in  for 


64  SENGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFAOB. 

business.  "  Good-morning,  Sarali ;  morning,  Deborah ; 
morning,  little  Beauty.  Made  a  good  collection  this 
time.  Please  open  your  ledger  and  begin  alphabetical. 
B  —  Bennett,  the  new  hotel,  3£  13s.  ()d.  There's  the 
money."  Sarah  wrote  the  payment  off  Bennett  in  the 
ledger.  Pinder  went  on  putting  eacli  payment  on 
the  counter  in  a  separate  paper.  "  Church,  1£  5s. ;  Mr. 
Drake,  7£  9s." 

"  That's  a  he-duck,"  suggested  Lucy. 

"You're  another,  allowing  for  sex,"  retorted  Pinder. 
"And  now  we  jump  to  M  —  Mr.  Mayor." 

"  That  is  a  she-horse,"  remarked  Lucy,  always  willing 
to  impart  information.  Pinder  denied  that,  and  said  it 
Avas  the  great  civic  authority  of  the  town,  and  in  proof 
produced  his  worship's  check  for  17i6  4s.  "And  now 
what's  the  news  here  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  miss,  with  an  obliging  air.  "  ^lamma 
and  Aunt  Deb  have  just  had  a  shindy." 

"  Oh,  fie  ! "  cried  Deborah.  "  It's  you  for  picking  up 
expressions." 

"  Then  why  do  you  let  them  fall  ?  "  said  the  mother. 
"  It's  you  she  copies.     We  only  differed  in  opinion." 

"  And  bawled  at  one  another,"  suggested  Lucy. 

Deborah  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  for  shame,  to  say  that ! " 

Says  this  terrible  child,  " '  The  truth  may  be  blamed, 
but  it  can't  be  shamed.'     You  know  you  did." 

"It  sounds  awful,"  said  Pinder,  dryly.  "Let  us  make 
'em  friends  again.  What  is  the  row  ?  "  and  Mr.  Pinder 
grinned  incredulous. 

"Well,"  explained  Lucy,  in  spite  of  a  furtive  signal 
from  her  mother,  "mamma  fretted  because  papa  does  not 
write ;  then  she  (pointing  at  Deborah,  malgre  the  rules 
of  good  breeding)  quarrelled  her  for  fretting,  and  she 
said,  'You  put  it  in  the  papers  how  rich  you  are,  and 
he'll  turn  up  directly.'     Then  mamma  bounced  up  and 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  65 

gave  it  her  hot  (Sarah  scandalized,  Deboi-ah  amused), 
and  then  it  ended  with  mamma  crying.  Everything  ends 
with  poor  mamma  crying."  Then  Luc}-  flung  her  arms 
round  her  mother's  neck,  and  Finder  suggested,  "  Little 
angel." 

Sarah  kissed  her  child  tenderly,  and  said,  "'No  —  no 
quarrel.  And  do  but  give  me  proof  that  he  is  alive,  and 
I'll  never  shed  another  tear." 

"  Is  that  a  bargain  ?  "  asked  Finder,  quietly. 

"  That  it  is." 

"Just  give  me  your  hand  upon  it  then."  She  gave 
him  her  hand  and  looked  eagerly  in  his  face. 

He  walked  out  of  the  shop  directly,  assailed  by  a  fire 
of  questions,  to  none  of  which  he  replied.  The  truth  is 
he  could  not  at  present  promise  anything.  But  he  knew 
this  much ;  that  Dick  Varney  had  gone  out  to  New  York 
three  months  ago,  and  had  been  seen  at  a  public-house 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Green  Street  that  A'-ery  day. 
Finder  got  it  into  his  head  that  Varney  would  most 
likely  know  Avhether  Mansell  was  alive  or  dead.  With 
some  difficulty  he  found  Varney.  That  worthy  was  dilap- 
idated, so  he  was  induced  by  the  promise  of  a  sovereign 
to  come  and  tell  Mrs.  Mansell  all  he  knew  about  her 
husband.  The  sly  Varney  objected  to  tell  Finder  until 
he  had  fingered  the  money,  and  asked  for  an  advance. 
This  the  wary  Finder  declined  peremptorily,  but  showed 
him  the  coin. 

Thus  distrusting  each  other,  they  settled  to  go  to 
Green  Street.  But  when  he  got  to  the  door,  Varney 
remembered  the  scene  of  the  burglary,  and  the  woman's 
distress ;  he  took  fright,  and  wanted  to  go  back. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Finder ;  "  I'll  bear  the  blame  of  this 
visit,"  and  almost  forced  him  in. 

The  family  was  still  all  in  a  flutter,  and  Deborah  bear- 
ing her  sister  company  in  the  shop.  Though  Sarah  had 
5 


66  SINGLE] I EAUT    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

only  seen  Varney  once,  his  face  and  figure  were  indelible 
in  her  memory,  and  at  the  sight  of  him  she  gave  a  faint 
scream,  put  both  her  hands  before  her  face,  and  turned 
her  head  away  into  the  bargain.  "  Oh,  that  man  ! "  she 
cried. 

"  There,"  said  Varney,  "  she  can't  bear  the  sight  of  me, 
and  no  wonder."  AVith  this  remark,  the  most  creditable 
he  had  made  for  years,  he  tried  to  bolt.  But  Finder 
collared  him  and  held  him  tight,  and  for  the  first  time 
this  three  years  scolded  Sarah.  "Why,  where's  the 
sense  of  flying  at  the  man,  and  frightening  what  little 
courage  he  has  out  of  him,  and  shutting  his  mouth  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Deborah,  hastily,  "  if  you  can  tell  her 
anything  about  her  man,  don't  you  doubt  your  welcome. 
Let  bygones  be  bygones." 

*'  I  am  bound  to  answer  whatever  she  asks  me." 

"And  I'm  bound  to  give  you  this  if  you  do,"  said 
Finder.  '•  Deborah  shall  hold  it  meantime."  He  handed 
over  the  sovereign  to  Deborah.  Her  fingers  closed  on  it, 
and  did  not  seem  likely  to  open  without  the  equivalent. 

During  all  this  Sarah's  eyes  had  been  gradually  turn- 
ing round  toward  the  man,  and  by  a  feminine  change 
they  now  dwelt  on  him  as  if  they  would  pierce  him. 

"  You  have  been  to  New  York  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


SLNGLEHEART   AND  DOUBLEFACE.  67 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Did  you  look  for  my  liusband  ?  " 
-"  You  may  be  sure  of  that,  and  it  took  me  all  my  time 
to  find  him." 

"  Find  him  !     He  is  alive  ?  " 

"Alive!     Of  course  he  is." 

"  Thank  God !  thank  God ! " 

She  was  so  overcome  that  Pinder  and  Deborah  came 
to  her  assistance,  but  she  waved  them  off.  "  No,"  said 
she,  "  joy  won't  hurt  me.     Alive  and  well  ?  " 

"  Never  better." 

"  And  happy  ?  " 

"Jolly  as  a  sand-boy." 

"  A  sand-boy  ?  "  murmured  Lucy,  inquiringly. 

Sarah's  next  question  was  uttered  timidly  and  pite- 
ously  —  "  Did  he  ask  after  us  ?  " 

Deborah  cast  an  uneasy  glance  at  Pinder.  She  was 
sorry  her  sister  had  asked  that,  and  feared  a  freezing 
reply. 

"Rather,"  said  Varney.  "First  word  he  said  was, 
'How  is  Sarah  and  the  kid?'" 

"  Bless  him  ! "  cried  Sarah.     "  Bless  him ! " 

Lucy  informed  the  company  that  a  kid  was  a  little  goat. 

But  her  innocence  did  not  provoke  a  smile.  They 
were  all  hanging  on  Dick  Varney's  words. 

"  And  what  did  you  say  about  us  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  I  could  only  tell  him  what  I  hear  of  all 

sides,  that  you  are  doing  his  trade  as  well  as  your  own. 

That  Joe  Pinder  is  your  factotum.     That  you  are  as  rich 

as  a  Jew,  and  respected  accordingly." 

Vol.  9—15 


68  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  You  told  him  that  ?  ''  said  Deborah,  keenly. 

"  Those  were  my  very  words." 

"  And  he  didn't  come  back  with  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No." 

"  Then  he  must  be  doing  well  out  there  ?  " 

"I  shouldn't  wonder;  he  was  dressed  like  a  gentleman." 

"And  he  looked  like  one,  I'll  be  bound,"  said  his 
devoted  wife. 

"He  didn't  behave  like  one,  then,  for  he  gave  an  old 
friend  the  cold  shoulder." 

"  What  a  pity,"  suggested  Deborah ;  "  you  that  used  to 
set  him  such  a  good  example." 

Finder  said  that  was  not  fair,  and  the  man  telling 
them  all  he  could.  Deborah  said  no  more  it  wasn't,  and 
if  Mr.  Varney  would  come  with  her  she  would  cook  him 
a  bit  of  this  nice  steak. 

He  said  he  should  be  very  glad  of  it. 

"But  mind,  there's  no  brandy  allowed  in  this  house. 
Can  you  drink  home-brewed  ale  ?  " 

"  I  can  drink  anything,"  said  he,  eagerly. 

She  showed  him  into  the  kitchen,  but  whipped  back 
again  for  a  moment.  "  There's  more  behind  than  he  has 
told  2/ow/'  said  she.  "  I'm  a-going  to  pump  him."  She 
ran  off  again  directly  to  carry  out  this  design,  and  very 
capable  of  it  she  was :  just  the  sort  of  woman  to  wait 
for  him  like  a  cat,  and  go  about  the  bush,  and  put  no 
question  of  any  importance  till  he  had  eaten  his  fill,  and 
drunk  the  home-brewed  ale,  which  tasted  innocent,  but 
was  very  heady.  This  manoeuvre  of  hers  raised  some 
vague  expectations  in  the  grown-up  people,  but  Lucy's 
mind,  as  usual,  fixed  itself  on  a  word. 

"  Pump  him  ?  "  said  she  to  Finder.  "  How  will  she 
do  that,  Factotum  ?  " 

"Not  knowing,  can't  say,"  was  Factotum's  reply. 

"  Like  this.  Factotum  ?  "  said  she,  and  took  his  arm 


SINGLEHEART   AND  DOXJBLEFACE.  69 

and  pumped  with  it.  "Good-by,  Factotum,"  said  she, 
for  a  new  word  was  like  a  new  toy  to  her ;  "  I'm  off  to 
see  the  pumping." 

Pinder  laughed,  and  looked  at  Sarah ;  but  not  a  smile. 
"  Why,  you  are  not  going  to  fret  again  ? "  said  he. 
*''  You  gave  me  your  word  to  be  happy  if  he  was  alive." 

"And  I  thought  I  should  at  the  time.  But  now  I 
know  he  is  alive,  I  know  too  that  he  is  dead  to  me. 
Alive  all  this  time,  and  not  write  me  a  line  !  I  insulted 
him,  and  he  hates  me.     I'm  a  deserted  wife." 

"And  I  am  a  useless  friend.  Nothing  I  do  is  any 
use."  He  lost  heart  for  a  time,  and  went  and  took  a 
turn  in  the  street,  despondent,  and  for  the  moment  a 
little  out  of  temper. 

She  watched  his  retiring  figure,  and  thought  he  had 
gone  for  good,  and  felt  that  she  must  appear  ungrateful, 
and  should  wear  out  this  true  friend's  patience  before 
long.  "I  can't  help  it,"  said  she  to  herself.  "I  can 
love  but  one,  and  him  I  shall  never  see  again." 

Never  was  her  sense  of  desolation  so  strong  as  at 
that  moment.  She  laid  her  brow  on  the  counter,  and 
her  tears  ran  slowly  but  steadily. 

She  had  been  so  some  time  when  a  voice  somewhere 
near  her  said,  rather  timidly,  "  Sally." 

She  lifted  her  head  a  little  way  from  the  counter,  but 
did  not  look  toward  where  the  voice  came  from;  it 
seemed  like  a  sound  in  a  dream  to  her. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  man,  and  came  quickly  to  her.  Then 
she  looked  and  uttered  a  scream  of  rapture,  and  in  a 
moment  husband  and  wife  were  locked  in  each  other's 
arms. 

At  this  moment  Pinder,  whose  momentary  impatience 
had  very  soon  given  way  to  compassion  and  pity,  came 
back  to  make  the  amende  by  increased  kindness ;  and 
Deborah,  who  knew  every  tone  of  her  sister's  voice,  flew 


70  SINGLEHEART   AND  DOUBLEFACE. 

Up  from  the  kitchen  at  her  cry  of  joy.  But  in  the  first 
rapture  of  meeting  and  reconciliation  neither  spouse 
took  any  notice  of  these  astounded  witnesses. 

"  My  Jemmy  !  my  own  !  my  own ! " 

"  My  sweet,  forgiving  wife  ! " 

"  It  is  me  should  ask  forgiveness." 

"  No,  no  !     'Twas  the  police  drove  me  mad." 

"  To  leave  me  for  three  years  ! " 

'*  Do  you  think  I'd  have  stayed  away  three  weeks  if  I 
had  thought  I  should  be  so  welcome  ?  " 

"  What !  you  did  not  know  how  I  love  you  ?  " 

Then  came  another  embrace,  and  at  last  Sarah  realized 
that  there  were  two  spectators,  one  on  each  side  of  her, 
and  those  spectators  not  so  much  in  love  with  the  recov- 
ered treasure  as  she  was.  She  said,  "Come,  dearest,  joy 
is  sacred,"  and  drew  him  by  both  hands,  with  a  deal  of 
grace  and  tenderness,  into  the  little  parlor,  and  closed 
the  door. 

Pinder  and  Dieborah  looked  at  each  other  long  and 
expressively,  and  by  an  instinct  of  sympathy  met  at  the 
counter  as  soon  as  the  parlor-door  closed,  Deborah  very 
red,  and  her  eyes  glittering,  Finder  ghastly  pale. 

"Well,  Mr.  Pinder,"  said  she,  with  affected  calm,  but 
ill-concealed  bitterness,  "you  and  I  —  we  are  two  nobodies 
now.  Three  years'  kindness  of  our  side  goes  for  nothing, 
and  three  years'  desertion  don't  count  against  him.  I've 
heard  that  absence  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder,  and 
now  'tis  to  be  seen." 

Pinder  apologized  for  his  idol.  "  She  can't  help  it," 
said  he.  "  But  I  can  help  looking  on.  I've  seen  them 
meet,  after  him  abandoning  her  this  three  years,  and 
what  I  feel  this  moment  will  last  me  all  my  time.  I 
won't  stay  to  watch  them  together,  like  the  devil  grin- 
ning at  Adam  and  Eve ;  and  I  won't  wait  to  hear  him 
say  that  this  business  I  have  enlarged  is  his,  the  trade 


SINGLEHEART   AND    DOUBLEFACE.  71 

that  he  killed  and  I  have  revived  is  his,  that  the  woman 
is  his,  and  the  child  is  his,  and  the  money  we  have  saved 
is  his.  No,  Deborah,  I'll  give  her  my  blessing  and  go, 
soon  as  ever  I  have  put  np  those  shutters  for  her,  and  it 
is  about  time.  You  will  see  Joseph  Pinder  in  this  place 
no  more." 

"What,  you  will  desert  her  and  all  ? " 

"  Desert  her  ?  That  is  not  the  word.  I  leave  her 
when  she  is  happy.     I  am  only  her  friend  in  trouble." 

"  And  not  her  friend  in  danger,  then  ?  " 

"I  see  no  danger  just  at  present." 

"  Think  a  bit,  my  man.  What  has  brought  him  home  ? 
Answer  me  that." 

"  Well,  I  can,"  said  he.  ''  There  is  plenty  of  attraction 
to  bring  any  man  home  that  is  not  blind  and  mad  and  an 
idiot." 

"Ay,"  said  she,  "that  is  how  you  look  at  her ;  but  it's 
him  I  want  you  to  read.  Why,  it  was  three  years  since 
he  left,  but  it's  not  a  month  since  that  Varney  told  him 
she  was  a  rich  woman,  and  here  he  is  directly." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  honest  Joe  Pinder.  "  I  see  what  you  are 
driving  at ;  but  that  may  be  accidental.  Things  fall 
together  like  that.  We  mustn't  be  bad-hearted  neither. 
Why,  surely  he  can't  be  so  base  ! " 

"  He  is  no  worse  than  he  was,  and  no  better,  you  may 
be  sure.  Crossing  the  water  can't  change  a  man's  skin, 
nor  his  heart  neither,  and  I  tell  you  he  has  come  here 
disguised  as  a  gentleman  for  the  thing  he  came  for  dis- 
guised as  a  burglar." 

Here  she  tapped  the  safe  with  the  key  of  the  kitchen- 
door,  which  she  had  in  her  hand,  and  that  action  and  the 
ring  of  the  metal  made  lier  reasoning  tell  wonderfully. 
She  followed  up  her  advantage,  and  assured  Pinder  that 
if  he  did  not  stay  and  lend  her  his  support,  Sarah  would 
soon  be  stripped  bare  and  then  abandoned  again. 


72  SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE. 

"  If  he  does,"  said  Finder,  '•  I'll  kill  him  ;  that  is  all." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  was  Deborah's  reply.  "  But  you 
mustn't  leave  her.  And  then,"  said  she,  "there's  me. 
You  that  is  so  good-natured,  would  you  leave  me  to  fight 
against  the  pair  ?  To  be  sure,  I  am  cook,  and  my  kitchen 
is  overrun  with  rats  ;  and  one  penn'orth  of  white  arsenic 
would  rid  the  place  of  them  and  the  two-legged  vermin 
and  all." 

Pinder  was  shocked,  and  begged  her  solemnly  never  to 
harbor  such  thoughts  for  a  moment. 

'•  Then  don't  you  leave  me  alone  with  my  thoughts" 
said  she,  "  for  I  hate  him  with  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

The  discussion  did  not  end  there ;  and,  to  be  brief, 
Deborah  had  the  best  of  it  to  the  end.  Pinder,  however, 
was  for  once  doggedly  resolved  to  consider  his  own  feel- 
ings as  well  as  Sarah's  interests.  He  would  go  ;  but 
consented  not  to  leave  the  town,  and  to  look  in  occa- 
sionally just  to  see  whether  Sarah  was  being  pillaged. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  if  'tis  all  one  to  you,  I  will  come  to 
the  kitchen,  not  the  shop." 

The  ready-witted  Deborah  literally  and  without  a 
metaphor  licked  her  lips  at  him  when  he  proposed 
this,  so  hearty  was  her  appetite  for  a  tete-a-tete  or  two 
in  her  own  kitchen  with  this  Joseph  Pinder ;  he  had 
pleased  her  eye  from  the  first  moment  she  saw  him. 

She  said,  "Well,  so  do.  'What  the  eye  don't  see  the 
heart  don't  grieve.'  Leave  him  the  shoii  and  you  come 
in  the  kitchen." 

With  this  understanding  Pinder  put  up  the  shutters 
and  went  away,  sick  at  heart.  Deborah  had  half  a  mind 
to  stay  in  her  kitchen,  so  odious  to  her  was  the  sight  of 
her  brother-in-law ;  and,  besides,  she  was  jealous  ;  how- 
ever, her  courage  was  a  quality  that  came  and  Avent. 
She  was  afraid  to  declare  war  on  the  pair,  with  nobody 
on  the  spot  to  back  her.     So  she  temporized ;  she  took 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  73 

Lucy  into  the  parlor  to  welcome  her  father.  The  child 
said,  "  How  d'j^e  do,  papa  ?  "  in  rather  an  off-hand  way, 
and  was  kissed  overflowingly.  She  did  not  respond  one 
bit,  and  began  immediately  to  fire  questions  :  '•'  \Miy  did 
you  go  away  so  long,  and  make  mamma  fret?  "Why 
didn't  3'ou  write  to  her,  if  you  couldn't  come  ?  " 

Sarah  stopped  the  rest  of  the  cross-examination  with 
her  hand,  and  told  Lucy  it  was  not  for  her  to  question 
her  father.  Deborah  never  moved  a  muscle,  but  chuckled 
inwardly. 

"What  will  you  have  for  supper,  now  that  you  are 
come  ?  "  inquired  she,  with  affected  graciousness. 

"Anything  you  like,"  said  James,  politely.  "Don't 
make  a  stranger  of  me." 

That  evening  the  reunited  couple  spent  in  sweet  remi- 
niscences and  the  renewal  of  conjugal  ardor. 

Before  morning,  however,  they  had  talked  of  everything 
—  at  all  events,  Sarah  had,  and  being  grateful  to  Pinder, 
and  anxious  to  make  her  benefactor  and  her  husband 
friends,  had  revealed  the  results  of  Joseph's  faithful 
service  and  intelligence  —  the  shop  purchased,  and  four 
hundred  and  forty  pounds  in  the  bank. 

"At  what  interest  ?  "  inquired  James. 

"  Oh,  no  interest.  I  am  waiting  to  buy  land  or  a  good 
house  with  it." 

James  laughed,  and  said  that  was  England  all  over  — 
to  let  money  lie  dead  for  which  ten  per  cent  could  be  had 
in  the  United  States  on  undeniable  security. 

When  once  he  got  upon  this  subject  he  was  eloquent ; 
descanted  on  the  vast  opportunities  offered  both  to  indiis- 
try  and  capital  in  the  United  States  ;  bade  her  observe 
how  he  had  improved  his  condition  by  industry  alone. 

"  But  with  capital,"  said  he,  "'  I  could  soon  make  you 
a  lady." 

"  Lucy  you  might,"  said  she,  "  but  I  shall  live  and  die 
a  simple  woman." 


74  SINGLEHEAllT   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

Finding  she  listened  to  him,  he  returned  to  the  subject 
again  and  again  ;  but  I  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  give 
the  dialogue  in  extenso.  There  is  a  certain  monotony  in 
the  eloquence  of  speculation,  and  the  sensible  objections 
of  humdrum  prudence.  I  spare  the  reader  these,  having 
sworn  not  to  be  tri-voluminous. 

It  was  about  twelve  o'clock  next  day  when  Pinder, 
whose  occupation  was  gone,  and  ennui  and  deadness  of 
heart  substituted,  found  the  time  so  heavy  on  his  hands 
that  he  must  come  and  chat  witli  Deborah  in  her  kitchen. 
He  looked  in  ;  she  was  not  there.  So  then  he  peeped  in 
timidly  at  the  shop-window,  and  there  she  was  in  sole 
possession  of  the  counter.  Her  qualifications  for  that 
post  were  as  well  known  to  him  as  to  the  readers  of  this 
tale,  so  he  looked  surprised. 

"  Why,  where  are  they  all  ?  " 

"  In  Cupid's  bower,"  said  Deborah,  repeating  a  phrase 
out  of  a  daily  paper.  *'  Billing  and  cooing  are  sweeter 
than  business." 

"Where's  Lucy?" 

'•'  You  are  the  first  that  has  asked.  Well,  she  is  asleep 
up-stairs.  My  lady  found  herself  neglected  first  time 
this  three  years,  so  she  came  and  cried  to  me,  and  I 
took  her  in  m}^  arms  and  laid  her  on  the  bed.  She's  all 
right.  Pity  grown-up  people  can't  go  to  sleep  when  they 
like  and  forget." 

At  this  moment  the  parlor-door  opened,  and  Sarah 
Mansell,  who  had  worn  nothing  but  black  these  three 
years,  emerged  beaming  in  a  blue  dress  with  white  spots, 
and  a  lovely  bonnet,  all  gay  and  charming.  This  bright 
vision  banished  Deborah's  discontent  in  a  moment. 
"Well,"  said  she,  "you  are  a  picture."  Sarah  stopped 
to  be  looked  at,  and  smiled. 

"Well,"  said  Deborah,  "he  has  found  a  way  to  make 
us  all  glad  he  is  come  home." 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLBFACE.  75 

Sarah  smiled  affectionately  on  her,  and  said  she  only- 
wished  she  could  make  everybody  as  happy  as  she  was. 

"Why  not?"  said  Deborah,  playing  the  courtier  to 
please  her.  "And  where  are  you  going  so  pert,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"To  the  bank  to  draw  my  money,"  replied  Sarah, 
gayly. 

Pinder  and  Deborah  looked  at  one  another. 

"  How  much  of  it  ?  "  asked  Deborah. 

"  Four  hundred  pounds,"  said  the  wife,  brightly. 

Pinder  groaned,  but  was  silent.  Deborah  threw  up 
her  hands. 

"  O  Sarah,"  said  she  piteously,  "  do  but  think  how  long 
it  has  taken  you  to  make  that,  and  don't  throw  it  into  a 
well  all  at  one  time." 

Sarah  smiled  superior.  "  I  affronted  him  about  money 
three  years  ago,  and  you  see  what  came  of  it." 

She  was  going  out  jauntily,  neither  angry  nor  in  any 
way  affected  by  her  friends'  opposition,  when  Pinder 
put  in  a  serious  word. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  give  him  a  good  slice.  But  do  pray 
leave  a  little  for  Lucy.  You  are  a  mother  as  well  as  a 
wife." 

She  turned  on  him  at  the  door  with  sudden  wrath  to 
crush  him  with  a  word  for  daring  to  teach  her  her  duty 
as  a  mother;  then  she  remembered  all  she  owed  him, 
and  restrained  herself.  But  what  a  look  flashed  from 
her  eyes!  And  the  hot  blood  mounted  to  her  tem- 
ples. 

Pinder  was  quite  staggered  at  such  a  look  from  her, 
and  Deborah  shook  her  head.  They  both  felt  they  were 
nullities,  and  James  Mansell  the  master  again.  He  let 
them  know  it,  too.  He  had  been  quietly  listening  on 
the  stairs  to  every  word  they  had  said  to  his  wife,  and 
he  now  stepped  into  the  shop  and  took  up  a  commanding 


76  STNGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

position  on  the  public  side  of  the  counter,  opposite  Pinder 
and  Deborah.  They  were  standing  behind  the  counter  at 
some  distance  from  each  other. 

It  was  Pinder  he  attacked :  said  he,  quietly,  "  Are  you 
going  to  meddle  again  between  man  and  wife  ?  It  didn't 
answer  last  time,  did  it  ?  " 

Pinder  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  quarrel  if  it  could 
be  helped,  so  he  said  not  a  word. 

But  Deborah  was  not  so  discreet.  "Why,  you  have 
allowed  him  to  meddle  this  three  years.  You  pillaged 
and  deserted  her ;  he  interfered,  and  made  her  fortune. 
He  doesn't  meddle  to  mar." 

Then  Pinder  spoke,  but  in  a  more  pacific  tone.  "I 
don't  want  to  meddle  at  all,"  said  he.  "But  Deborah 
and  I  have  done  our  best  for  you  both,  and  I  do  think 
your  wife's  friends  might  be  allowed  to  ask  what  is  to 
be  done  in  one  day  with  the  savings  of  three  years." 
Before  these  words  were  out  of  his  mouth  Mansell  regis- 
tered a  secret  vow  to  get  rid  of  him  and  Deborah  both. 

He  replied,  with  the  intention  of  galling  them  to  the 
quick,  "  Well,  I  don't  know  that  the  master  is  bound  to 
tell  the  servants  what  he  does  with  his  money." 

"  Your  money  ?  "  snorted  Deborah. 

"Ay,"  said  this  imperturbable  person.  "My  wife's 
money  is  mine.  I  thought  I  had  made  you  understand 
that  last  time.  Well,  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  my 
money  is  to  invest  it  in  American  securities  at  ten  per 
cent,  instead  of  letting  it  lie  idle  in  an  English  bank." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Deborah.  "  That  is  the  tale  you  have 
been  telling  her,  eh?  Well,  I  mean  to  tell  her  the 
truth.  You  a,re  going  to  collar  her  money  and  off  to 
America  directly.  Varney  has  been  here,  and  split  on 
you.     You  came  for  the  money,  not  the  woman." 

She  flung  these  Avords  in  his  face  so  violently  that 
even  his  brazen  cheek  flushed  as  if  she  had  struck  him  : 


SINGLEHEAKT  AOTD  DOUBLEFACE.  77 

but  ere  he  could  reply,  Sarah  stood  aghast  in  the  door- 
way.    "  Oh,  dear !  high  words  already." 

Then  James  Mansell,  who,  in  his  way,  was  cleverer 
than  any  of  them,  recovered  his  composure  in  a  moment, 
and  said  quietly,  "  Not  on  my  side,  I  assure  you.  But 
this  young  woman  says  I  have  come  for  your  money,  not 
for  you.  That's  a  pretty  thing  to  bawl  at  a  man  for  all 
the  street  to  hear.  Well,  Sarah,  I  don't  bawl  at  her,  but 
I  put  it  to  you,  quietly  —  how  can  I  live  in  the  same 
house  with  people  that  hate  me,  and  are  on  the  watch  to 
poison  my  wife's  mind  against  me  ?  " 


78  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLBFACE. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

PiNDER  and  Deborah  both  felt  they  had  met  their 
match.  Pinder  held  his  peace ;  but  Deborah  couldn't. 
Her  lips  trembled,  but  she  fought  him  to  the  last.  "I 
shall  leave  this  house  at  one  word  from  my  sister ;  but 
not  at  the  bidding  of  a  stranger  that's  here  to-day  and 
gone  to-morrow,  as  soon  as  he  has  milked  the  cow  and 
bled  the  calf."  With  a  grand  sweeping  gesture  of  the 
left  arm  she  indicated  Sarah  as  the  cow,  and  with  her 
right,  Lucy  as  the  calf. 

The  tremendous  words,  and  the  vulgar  yet  free  and 
large  gestures  with  which  she  drove  them  home,  made 
even  Pinder  say,  "  Oh  ! "  and  so  upset  Mansell's  cunning 
self-command  that  he  came  at  her  furiously.  But  Sarah 
stopped  him.  "No,  you  shall  not  answer  her,  James 
You  go  and  take  your  daughter  on  your  knee,  and  I'll 
tell  these  two  my  mind."  She  was  so  grave  and  dignified 
there  was  no  resistance. 

Mansell  retired  with  Lucy,  and  went  up  the  stairs. 

When  he  was  quite  gone,  Sarah  put  out  her  two  hands 
and  said,  sweetly,  "Come  here,  you  two."  Then  they 
each  took  a  hand,  and  their  eyes  glistened. 

She  took  them  gently  to  task  in  silvery  accents,  that 
calmed  and  soothed  them  as  they  fell.  "You  have  a 
true  affection  for  me,  both  of  you.  Then  pity  me,  too, 
and  don't  drive  me  into  a  corner.  Do  not  make  me 
choose  between  my  husband  and  you ;  you  know  which 
I  must  choose.  Why,  dear  heart,  if  I  spent  my  money 
on  my  back,  you  would  not  grudge  it  me.  Then  why 
not  let  me  please  my  heart,  and  give  my  money  where  I 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLBFACE.  79 

give  my  love,  that  is  worth  more  than  four  hundred 
pounds  if  you  could  but  see  it." 

They  were  both  subdued  by  her  words.  Deborah  said, 
in  a  sort  of  broken,  helpless  way  to  Finder,  "  She  doesn't 
understand.  ■^ 

"What  we  mean  is  that  if  you  part  with  your  money, 
you  will  lose  your  man ;  but  so  long  as  you  stick  to  your 
money,  he  will  stay  with  you ;  and  we  have  both  seen 
how  you  can  fret  for  him  when  he  does  desert  you  as 
well  as  bleed  you." 

"Ay,"  said  Sarah,  nobly,  and  without  anger.  "You 
mean  me  well ;  but  you  doubt,  and  mistrust,  and  suspect. 
No  offence  to  either  of  you,  but  your  nature  is  not  mine. 
I  am  single-hearted.  I  cannot  love  and  mistrust.  Nor 
I  could  not  mistrust  and  love." 

The  beauty  of  her  mind  and  the  sweetness  of  her 
strong  but  sober  words  overpowered  her  old  lover  and 
tender  friend.  "  Don't  harass  her  any  more,"  said  he. 
"She  is  too  good  for  this  world.     She  is  an  angel." 

Deborah  smiled,  and  after  taking  a  good  look  at  her 
sister,  said,  coolly,  "  She  is  a  wonderful  good  woman ; 
her  face  would  tell  one  that ;  but  she  is  a  woman,  you 
may  be  sure,  like  her  mother  before  her.  Sarah,  'tis  no 
use  beating  about  the  bush  any  longer.  Would  you  like 
that  four  hundred  pounds  to  go  to  another  woman  ?  " 

"  Another  woman  ?  "  cried  the  supposed  angel,  firing 
up  directly.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  other 
woman  ?  " 

"  Dick  Varney  saw  him  with  a  woman,  and  a  handsome 
one." 

"  Well,  what  does  that  prove  ?  " 

"  Not  much  by  itself ;  but  a  man  that  leaves  one 
woman  for  three  years,  at  his  time  of  life,  is  safe  to  take 
on  with  another." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Sarah,  "'  don't  tell  me  so." 


80  SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

But  Deborali  was  launched.  She  said,  "  It's  all  a 
mystery,  and  against  nature,  if  there's  no  other  womap  ; 
but,  if  there's  another,  it's  all  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff. 
Three  yeays'  dead  silence  and  neglect  —  another  woman 

—  you  fretting  in  England  —  no  other  man  —  (Air.  Finder 
is  only  a  friend)  —  he  jolly  as  a  sand-boy  in  New  York 

—  another  woman  —  she  wants  money  (t'other  woman 
always  does)  —  Dick  Varney  tells  him  you've  got  it  — 
he's  here  in  one  month  after  that,  and  the  first  day  he  is 
here  he  drains  the  cow.  American  insecurities  ?  —  A 
Yankee  gal ! " 

This  time  her  rude  eloquence  and  homely  sense  carried 
all  before  them.  Sarah,  whose  face  liad  changed  with 
the  poison  of  jealousy,  lost  all  her  Madonna-like  calm- 
ness. She  was  almost  convulsed ;  she  moaned  aloud : 
''  If  it  is  so,  Heaven  help  me  !  "  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
bosom,  and  her  beautiful  brown  eyes  half  disappeared 
upward  and  showed  an  excess  of  white.  "  0  sister,  you 
have  put  a  viper  in  my  bosom  —  doubt.  It  will  gnaw 
away  my  heart." 

"Heaven  forbid ! "  cried  Deborah,  terrified  at  her  sister's 
words,  and  still  more  at  her  strange  looks.  Then  she 
began  to  blame  her  woman's  tongue,  q,nd  beg  Sarah  to 
dismiss  her  suspicions  with  contempt.  But  this  was  met 
by  another  change,  almost  as  remarkable  in  its  way. 
"No,"  said  Sarah,  with  iron  firmness,  "I  could  not  love, 
and  doubt,  and  live.  I'll  put  it  to  the  test."  Deborah 
looked  amazed  and  puzzled.  Sarah  walked  to  the  parlor- 
door  and  called  up  the  stairs,  '•'  James,  dear,  please  come 
here."  —  "  Whatever  vrill  she  do  or  say  ?  "  groaned  Deborah, 
and  began  to  shiver.  Sarah  came  back  to  her,  and  said, 
in  a  sort  of  hissing  whisper,  "  Now,  since  you  have  taught 
me  to  suspect,  and  distrust,  and  doubt,  you  must  go  a 
little  farther.  I  bid  you  watch  my  husband's  face,  and 
his  very  body,  whilst  I,  that  am  his  wife,  play  upon  him." 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  81 

She  hung  her  head,  ashamed  of  what  she  was  going  to  do. 
But  Deborah  said,  roughly,  '"Won't  I  — that's  all." 

James  Mansell  came  in,  and  cast  a  shrewd  glance  all 
round.  Deborah's  face  told  him  nothing.  She  wore  an 
expression  of  utter  indifference.     Pinder  hung  his  head. 

Mansell  was  now  between  two  masked  batteries ;  his 
wife's  eyes  scanned  him  point  blank,  and  Deborah  watched 
him  —  like  a  cat  —  out  of  the  tail  of  her  eye,  as  Sarah 
tested  her  husband. 

"  James,  dear,  I  have  a  great  affection  for  my  sister, 
and  a  true  respect  for  Joseph  Pinder,  and  I  owe  them 
both  a  debt  of  gratitude."  James  looked  rather  gloomy 
at  that.  "  But  I  love  you  better  than  all  the  world.  I 
can't  bear  to  turn  these  faithful  friends  out  of  the  house  ; 
they  comforted  me  when  I  was  desolate."  I\Iansell  looked 
dark  again.  "  And  yet  I  can't  have  you  made  uncomfort- 
able for  anybod}'.  So,  if  m}-  company  is  as  welcome  to 
you  as  my  money,  we  will  go  to  America  together." 

Pinder  and  Deborah  both  uttered  exclamations  of  sur- 
prise and  dismay,  but  Deborah's  eye  never  left  James. 
He  was  startled,  but  showed  no  reluctance.  He  merely 
said,  "  You  don't  mean  that  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do  ;  but  perhaps  you  don't  want  me.  You 
would  rather  go  back  alone." 

The  four  eyes  watched. 

"  No,"  said  James ;  "  we  have  been  parted  long  enough. 
But  would  you  really  cross  the  water  with  me  ?  " 

"  As  I  would  cross  this  room,  if  you  really  wanted  me." 

''  Of  course  I  want  you,  if  we  are  not  to  live  together 
here  where  your  friends  hate  me.  But,  Sally,  if  you  are 
game  to  emigrate  Avith  me,  why  make  two  bites  of  a 
cherry  ?  We  must  sell  the  shop  and  realize,  and  settle 
in  the  States  for  life.  I've  no  friends  here,  and  you'll 
never  want  to  come  to  England  again,  when  once  you 
have  spent  a  summer  in  New  York." 
6 


83  SINGLEHEART  AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

Here  was  a  poisoned  arrow,  Deborah  clasped  her 
Uands  piteously,  and  cried,  "  0  Sarah ! " 

Sarah  put  up  one  hand  to  her  to  be  quiet. 

"No,"  said  she,  as  shortly  and  dryly  as  if  she  was 
<jhopping  fire-wood,  "  I'll  not  fling  my  sister  on  the  world, 
nor  put  all  my  Lucy's  eggs  in  one  basket.  I  will  risk 
four  hundred  pounds  and  no  more.  I  don't  look  to  find 
the  streets  of  New-York  City  paved  with  gold.  Money 
must  be  lost  by  one  for  another  to  make  it,  and  the  folk 
out  there  are  as  sharp  as  we  are  —  sharper  by  all  accounts. 
Many  go  there  for  wool,  and  come  back  shorn.  This  shop 
IS  a  little  haven  for  us,  if  things  go  "WTong  out  there. 
These  good  friends  will  keep  it  warm  for  us.  Now  I 
think  of  it,  doesn't  a  boat  start  for  New  York  this 
evening  ?  " 

"  This  evening ! "  cried  Pinder  and  Deborah  in  one 
breath. 

"Ay,  this  very  night  —  before  affection  is  soured  by 
disputes,  and  love  is  poisoned  by  jealousies."  Then  she 
told  James  to  put  on  his  hat,  and  bring  her  word  when 
the  boat  started.  Lucy  and  she  would  be  ready ;  she 
could  pack  all  her  clothes  in  half  an  hour,  with  Deborah 
to  help.  Thus  the  greater  character  asserted  itself  at 
last.  She  had  seen  with  a  woman's  readiness  that  the 
present  position  was  untenable  for  a  day,  and  she  had  cut 
the  knot  with  all  a  man's  promptitude.  From  that  hour 
she  took  the  lead. 

Deborah  was  wringing  her  hands  and  crying:  "Oh, 
what  have  I  said  ?     What  have  I  done  ?  " 

Sarah  said,  quietly,  "  Time  will  show.  Please  come 
and  help  me  pack ;  and,  Joseph,  put  up  the  shutters  ;  I 
trade  no  more  this  day.  Ah,  well,  I  never  thought  to 
leave  home ;  but  no  matter.  A  wife's  home  is  by  her 
husband's  side." 

Wliilst  they  were  packing,  and  Deborah's  tears  burst- 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  83 

ing  out  every  now  and  then,  Sarah  said  to  her,  a  little 
haughtily,  "  Well,  did  he  stand  the  test  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Deborah,  humbly. 

"  Do  you  think  he  ■would  take  me  to  New  York  if  there 
was  another  woman  ?" 

"  No."     (Very  humbly.) 

"But  see,"  said  she,  sorrowfully-,  "what  it  is  to  rouse 
mistrust.  I  shall  sew  the  notes  into  his  Sunday  waist- 
coat, but  I  shall  not  give  them  to  him  until  we  are  on  the 
sea." 

Deborah  began  to  say,  "  And  why  "  —  but  she  got  no 
further.     She  ended  with  "'  I'm  afraid  to  speak." 

They  got  the  man's  Sunday  waistcoat  out  of  the  drawer, 
and  their  quick  fingers  soon  cut  a  deep  inside  pocket. 
Sarah  took  the  numbers  of  the  notes,  and  sewed  in  the 
notes  themselves.  They  packed  the  waistcoat  for  the 
time  being  at  the  bottom  of  Sarah's  box. 

The  packing  was  done  two  hours  before  the  vessel 
sailed. 

The  whole  party  met  again  in  the  parlor  —  Pinder  to 
bid  good-by ;  but  Mansell,  to  please  his  wife,  I  suppose, 
said,  civilly,  "  No,  no ;  come  and  see  us  on  board.  There 
let  us  part  friends ;  the  chances  are  you  will  never  see 
us  again." 

These  words  fell  like  a  knell  on  the  true  hearts  Sarah 
Mansell  left  behind  her. 

Pinder  and  Deborah  saw  the  Mansells  go  down  the 
Mersey,  and  returned  sadly  to  the  house  that  had  lost  its 
sunshine. 

That  night  Deborah,  all  in  tears,  begged  Pinder  not  to 
leave  her  alone  in  the  house.  She  said  she  could  not 
bear  to  talk  of  anybody  but  Sarah  ;  if  she  went  out  her 
friends  would  chatter  about  this,  that,  and  t'other. 

Pinder  was  of  the  same  mind,  and  gladly  embraced 
the  proposal.     She  gave  him  his  choice  of  Lucy's  room 


84  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

or  the  connubial  chamber.  He  gave  a  little  shudder,  and 
chose  Lucy's.  He  now  became  the  master  of  the  house 
and  the  shop,  and  had  plenty  on  his  hands.  He  taught 
Deborah  the  prices  of  things,  and  how  to  Aveigh  and  put 
up  goods  in  paper,  and  that  is  an  art ;  and  at  night  he 
read  her  a  journal  or  a  book,  and  they  talked  of  Sarah, 
and  wondered  and  wondered  what  would  be  her  fate. 
Deborah  thought  she  would  come  back  in  about  a  year. 
The  four  hundred  pounds  would  not  last  longer  than 
that  in  Mansell's  hands,  and  he  would  be  sure  to  get  hold 
of  it.  But  Pinder  thought  she  Avould  not  return  at  all. 
James  Mansell  was  evidently  jealous  of  her  friends,  and 
determined  to.  have  her  all  to  himself. 

There  was  a  very  good  photograph  of  her,  cabinet 
size :  he  took  this  to  Ferranti,  and  had  it  enlarged, 
re-touched,  and  tinted  by  that  artist.  Ferranti,  who 
employed  a  superior  hand  to  retouch  these  enlargements 
under  his  own  eye,  produced  a  marvel.  It  had  the 
solidity  and  clean  outline  of  a  statue. 

They  had  it  lightly  tinted,  especially  the  eyes  and 
hair,  so  as  not  to  injure  the  transparency^  of  the  photo- 
graph ;  and  there  was  Sarah  Mansell,  full  size,  and  all 
but  alive. 

It  arrived,  quite  finished,  rather  late  at  night,  and 
Pinder  was  out ;  but  he  opened  the  case  and  took  it  out, 
and  neither  he  nor  Deborah  could  go  to  bed  for  gazing  at 
it.  "I  never  knew  how  beautiful  she  was,"  said  Debo- 
rah. They  actually  sat  up  till  two  o'clock  looking  at 
this  reproduction  of  a  good  and  beautiful  face,  and  they 
descanted  on  her  virtues,  and  Deborah  told  incidents  of 
her  childhood,  and  Pinder  repeated  wise  and  sober 
answers  from  her  sweet  lips. 

Pinder  now  found  himself  gliding  from  bachelor  life 
into  half-matrimonial.  His  dinner  was  always  ready  on 
a   clean   cloth ;   and  a  comely  woman,  a  year  younger 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  85 

than  himself,  cooked  it,  and  put  on  a  clean  apron  and 
cap  to  eat  with  him.  They  supped  together,  too.  She 
gave  up  her  nightly  exciirsions  after  a  husband,  and  was 
always  at  his  service,  and  ready  to  talk  to  him  or  listen 
to  him,  or  both;  for  if  he  read  aloud  police  cases,  or 
other  things  in  which  men  and  womeii  revealed  their 
characters  and  the  broad  features  of  human  nature,  her 
comments  were  as  sagncious,  especially  in  relation  to  her 
own  sex,  as  if  she  had  devoted  her  life  to  the  study  of 
philosophy. 

Sometimes,  too,  she  had  a  look  of  her  sister.  He 
never  expected  to  see  Sarah  any  more,  and,  take  it  alto- 
gether, he  was  on  the  road  which,  by  a  gentle  incline, 
has  often  led  the  victim  of  a  romantic  attachment  to  a 
quiet  union  of  affection. 

When  they  were  fairly  out  at  sea,  Sarah  brought  James 
his  waistcoat,  and  showed  him  how  the  notes  were 
secured.  "  You  keep  them,"  said  she,  '•'  and  I  keep  the 
numbers." 

Mansell's  greedy  eyes  flashed.  "  Well,  you  are  a 
business  woman :  we  shall  never  go  wrong  together." 

The  water  was  like  glass  for  eight  days,  but  then  they 
had  a  gale,  and  Mansell  was  very  ill.  It  was  calm  again 
as  they  drew  near  the  end  of  their  voyage,  but  Mansell 
did  not  regain  his  looks.  When  they  reached  the  port 
he  looked  ill,  pale,  depressed,  and  worried. 

They  landed,  and  left  their  boxes  on  the  pier,  and 
James  Mansell  told  Sarah  and  Lucy  to  stay  there,  whilst 
he  ran  into  a  neighboring  street  to  see  whether  his  old 
lodgings  —  very  comfortable  ones  —  were  vacant. 

She  called  after  him  not  to  be  long.  "  Mind,  I  am_ 
strange  here,"  said  she. 

"  He  won't  be  long,  I  guess,"  said  a  civil  officer  stand- 
ing by :  then  he  brought  tAvo  chairs. 


86  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  said  she.  "  Lucy,  my  dear, 
thank  the  gentleman."  Lucy  took  the  two  steps  her 
dancing-master  prescribed  as  essential  preliminaries  of  a 
courtesy,  and  then  effected  a  prim  reverence :  "  Thank 
you,  sir." 

The  gentleman,  a  tall,  gaunt  citizen  from  Illinois, 
grinned,  and  struck  a  bow,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  at 
right  angles. 

Sarah  watched  her  husband  take  the  second  street  to 
the  right  and  disappear.  Then  she  took  out  some  work, 
not  to  be  idle,  and  Lucy  prattled  away,  all  admiration. 
Never  had  this  brilliant  city  a  more  appreciative  critic. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  not  learned  the  suicidal  habit  of 
detraction,  thanks  to  which  nothing  pleases  us,  and  so 
we  pick  up  nothing. 

An  hour  passed  —  two  hours :  James  did  not  come  back. 
Sarah  was  mortified,  then  she  was  perplexed,  then  she 
was  alarmed.  What  if  he  had  gone  drinking  ?  He 
seemed  exhausted  by  the  voyage.  Once  this  fear  took 
possession  of  her,  waiting  there  idle  became  intolerable 
to  her.  She  begged  that  civil  officer  to  put  their  boxes 
aside  for  a  time,  and  she  took  Lucy  by  the  hand  and  fol- 
lowed in  the  direction  her  husband  had  taken.  But  as 
she  walked  for  hours  before  she  found  her  treasure,  I  ask 
leave  to  go  before  her  to  a  certain  street. 


SlNGLEIlEAirr    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  87 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Solomon  B.  Grace,  the  man  who  was  so  civil  to 
Sarah  Mansell  on  the  pier,  was,  in  his  way,  a  rough  and 
sturdy  example  of  the  species  Pinder ;  and  on  his  way 
to  and  from  the  custom-house,  he  used  always  to  stand 
stock-still  for  two  minutes  and  gaze  at  the  windows  of 
a  house  in  Christopher  Street,  that  belonged  to  one 
Elizabeth  Haynes.  Two  minutes  is  not  long  for  a  busy 
man  to  spare  to  the  past,  and  Solomon  had  never  been 
detected  at  the  weakness.  But  to-day  Elizabeth  Haynes 
caught  sight  of  him  as  she  put  on  her  bonnet  at  a  glass 
to  go  out,  and  when  she  did  come  out  at  the  door,  there 
he  was  gazing  at  the  windows. 

MrSc  Haynes  was  a  handsome,  gay  young  woman,  of  a 
genial  disposition.  She  knew  very  well  what  Solomon 
was  up  to,  but  useless  sentiment  was  not  her  line. 

"Well,"  said  she,  feigning  astonishment,  ''is  that  you, 
Mr.  Grace,  standing  there  like  a  petrified  policeman  ?  " 
Solomon  was  too  confounded  to  answer.  "  Perhaps  you 
want  apartments ;  "  and  she  pointed  to  the  card  in  the 
window. 

"  Perhaps  I  wanted  a  sight  of  the  lady  that  let's  'em." 

"  Then  why  not  knock  at  the  door  and  ask  for  the 
lady  ?  " 

"  Wa'al,  I  guess  rejected  suitors  ain't  always  the  most 
welcome  callers." 

"  Why  not  ?  If  they  behave  themselves,  do  you 
really  think  any  woman  hates  a  man  for  having  been  a 
little  sweet  on  her  ?  Next  time  don't  watch  the  prem- 
ises, but  walk  right  in  and  tell  me  the  news  from  out 
West." 


88  SINGLEHEART   AND  DOUBLEFACE. 

"  Wa'al,"  said  he  hesitating,  "ye  see  I  don't  want  no 
fuss.  Now  there's  somebody  in  that  house  that  riles 
me.  He  has  got  a  good  thing,  and  doesn't  vally  it.  He 
gambles  away  all  your  money,  and  he  is  never  at  home. 
You  were  married  to  one  Illinois  man,  and  he  respected 
you  and  loved  you ;  and  what  mad  dog  bit  you  that  you 
must  go  and  marry  a  stranger?  You  had  the  whole 
State  to  pick  from." 

"  And  Mr.  Solomon  B.  Grace  in  particular !  You  for- 
get I'm  a  stranger  myself.  I'm  not  annexed  to  your 
State." 

Solomon  admitted  this,  but  said  it  was  an  oversight  in 
the  "  Constitootion." 

"  Now  this,"  said  she,  "  is  why  rejected  suitors  are  not 
welcome  to  prudent  women  and  good  wives :  they  must 
run  down  the  man  we  have  chosen,  and  behind  his  back, 
too,  nine  times  out  of  ten." 

"  I'm  darned  if  it  isn't  mean  :  as  mean  as  dirt." 

This  concession  seemed  so  creditable  that  she  invited 
him  to  be  her  beau  —  as  far  as  the  market. 

Solomon  could  not  believe  his  good  fortune.  She 
laughed  at  him,  and  enlightened  him  :  "  Give  me  a  fair 
excuse ;  do  you  think  I  wouldn't  rather  have  a  decent 
man  beside  me  than  take  my  walks  alone  ?  What  a  bad 
opinion  you  must  have  of  woman's  sense  !  I  do  suppose 
that  gentleman  you  are  named  after  knew  'em  better. 
To  be  sure,  he  had  six  hundred  teachers,  poor  man  ! " 

"I  would  give  his  lot  for  my  one." 

"  Solomon,"  said  Mrs.  Haynes,  severely,  "  flattery  is 
poison,  so  come  on.  I  Avon't  stand  still  to  be  poisoned." 
So  she  went  shopping,  and  continued  at  it  long  after  she 
had  parted  with  Solomon  B.  Grace. 

Mrs.  Mansell  wandered  on  and  on,  and  then  back,  to 
and  fro,  Lucy  prattling  gayly,  and  almost  irritating  her, 


SINGLEHEART  AND   DOUBLEFACE.  89 

until  she  turned  hungry.  Then  her  mother  bought  her 
a  piece  of  pie  with  the  only  coin  in  her  pocket,  but  could 
not  eat  hej-self.  Night  fell,  tlie  lamps  "were  lighted ; 
foot-sore,  weary,  and  siclc  at  heart,  she  could  hardly 
draw  her  limbs  along,  and  began  to  ask  herself  bitterly 
what  she  had  done  to  be  abandoned  again  and  again  by 
everybod}'.  But  in  truth  she  was  not  abandoned  by  all ; 
a  wise  and  just  Providence  was  guiding  her  every  step. 
At  last  she  stopped  in  despair,  and  began  to  speak  her 
mind  to  Lucy,  since  there  was  no  one  else  : 

"  It  is  inconsiderate ;  it  is  cruel,"  said  she,  "  and  me  a 
stranger  in  this  great  city.  Why  couldn't  he  take  me 
up  with  him  to  look  for  lodgings  ?  0  Lucy,  my  mind 
misgives  me." 

"  Sit  down  on  those  steps,  mamma,"  said  Lucy,  with 
pretty  affection. 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  be  glad  to  rest  a  bit." 

She  sat  down  on  the  doorsteps,  and  thoughts  tor- 
mented her  she  could  not  utter  to  Lucy.  This  must  be 
their  old  enemy,  drink.  He  had  looked  so  pale  and 
exhausted.  Oh,  if  it  was  !  Misery  !  for  the  habit  once 
resumed,  after  so  long  abstinence,  would  never  be  got 
rid  of.  Here  was  a  miserable  prospect,  and  in  a  foreign 
land  as  well;  no  friends  to  curb  him  or  stand  by  her. 
And  then  if  he  got  drunk  he  Avould  be  robbed.  How 
lucky  she  had  sewed  up  the  notes  in  his  waistcoat !  The 
money !  Another  chill  thought  went  through  her  like 
an  ice-bolt.  Why  had  she  parted  with  it  ?  She  had 
been  warned  that  whilst  she  held  it  she  held  her  hus- 
band. It  was  but  a  momentary  horror.  She  dismissed 
that  suspicion  as  unworthy  and  monstrous,  and  was 
ashamed  of  herself  for  harboring  so  base  a  fear. 

Lucy  saw  the  change  in  her  distressed  face,  and  came 
to  a  simple,  comprehensive  conclusion :  "  Mamma,  he  is 
a  wicked  man." 


90  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

Sarah  was  shocked  at  this  from  her.  "No,  no,  my 
child ;  he  is  a  good  man,  and  your  father." 

"  Then  fathers  don't  love  us  like  uncles  do.  Uncle 
Joe  would  never  have  left  us  like  this.  I  wish  I  had 
never  left  home." 

Sarah  would  not  say  that ;  but  she  sighed  deeply,  and 
rocked  herself,  coiiutry  fashion,  sitting  on  the  stone 
steps. 

Mrs.  Haynes  came  back  to  her  tea,  and  found  her  in 
that  condition,  while  Lucy,  standing  beside  her,  opened 
two  glorious  ej^es  with  sorrowful  amazement.  For  a 
moment  Mrs,  Haynes  thought  they  were  beggars,  but 
the  next  her  eye  took  in  almost  at  one  glance  their  dress 
and  neat  appearance,  and  Lucy's  ear-rings,  pearl  and 
gold. 

She  asked  Mrs.  Mansell  civilly  what  was  the  matter 
—  was  she  tired  ? 

Mrs.  Mansell  looked  up  and  said,  sorrowfully,  that  she 
was  in  care  and  trouble.     She  had  lost  her  husband. 

"What,  dead?" 

"  Nay,  Heaven  forbid !  But  we  parted  on  the  quay. 
He  went  to  look  for  lodgings,  and  he  never  came  back. 
I  don't  know  what  to  think,  nor  what  to  do,  I'm  sure." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  the  other ;  "  and  you  a  stranger  in 
the  country ! " 

Sarah  sighed. 

"  And  it  is  late  for  the  child  to  be  out." 

Sarah  gave  her  a  glance  of  maternal  gratitude,  and 
passed  her  arm  round  her  child  at  the  very  idea  of  any 
harm  threatening  her. 

Mrs.  Haynes  looked  well  at  them  both,  and  liked 
their  faces  even  better  than  their  appearance.  She  said 
good-naturedly  :  "  You  had  better  step  in  and  rest  your- 
selves awhile,  and  then  we'll  see." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  ma'am ;  I'm  sure  it  is  very  good 
of  you." 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  91 

Mrs.  Haynes  opened  the  door  with  a  latch-key  and  led 
the  way  to  a  back  room  of  mixed  character.  There  was 
a  French  bed  in  it  with  curtains  descending  from  a  cir- 
cular frame.  There  was  also  a  chest  of  drawers,  and  a 
sort  of  plate-chest  on  them  ;  a  large  easy-chair,  much 
worn  ;  and  a  round  table,  with  a  white  cloth  on  it  —  in 
short,  it  was  an  unpretending  snuggery. 

''  There,  take  off  your  bonnets  and  make  yourselves 
comfortable,"  said  Mrs.  Haynes.  And  while  the}^  were 
doing  this,  she  whispered  an  order  to  her  maid  —  her 
name  was  Millicent.  Then  she  took  cups  and  saucers 
out  of  a  cupboard  and  wiped  them  herself ;  and  they 
talked  all  this  while,  she  and  Mrs.  Mansell. 

A  housekeeper's  vanity  is  always  on  the  alert  the 
moment  a  possible  rival  comes ;  so,  as  INIrs.  Mansell 
looked  like  a  person  with  a  house  of  her  own,  Mrs. 
Haynes  said,  "  You  mustn't  go  by  this  room  ;  mine  is  a 
beautiful  house,  but  I  keep  boarders,  and  it  is  so  full, 
that  I  have  to  pig  anywhere.  It  doesn't  matter  much, 
you  know,  when  one's  husband  is  away." 

Lucy  listened,  and  informed  her  mother,  with  some 
surprise,  that  the  young  lady  was  married. 

"  Why,  bless  the  child,  I  have  been  married  twice. 
The  first  was  an  Illinois  man.  Ah  !  he  was  a  husband  ! 
This  time  it  is  Matthew  Hajmes,  an  Englishman.  I 
can't  show  him  you,  for  he  has  gone  home  to  draw  a 
legacy,  and  that  takes  time."  She  paused  a  moment  to 
pour  out  the  tea. 

"  Are  you  a  New  York  lady,  if  you  please  ?  "  inquired 
Sarah. 

Mrs.  Haynes,  poising  the  tea-pot  in  the  air,  smiled 
at  her  simplicity.  "  No,"  said  she.  '•'  Are  you  ?  ^Y\\y, 
we  both  speak  country  English  as  broad  as  a  barn-door. 
Bless  your  heart,  I  knew  you  for  a  countrywoman  the 
moment  you  opened  your  mouth,   and  I  shouldn't  be 


92  SINGLEHEAKT   AND  DOUBLEFACE. 

surprised  if  we  came  from  the  very  same  part.  I  be 
Wiltshire." 

"  And  I'm  Barkshire  born  and  bred." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  'ee  ?  " 

Here  Millicent  came  in  with  a  large  dish  of  fried 
oysters. 

"  You  don't  get  such  oysters  as  these  in  Barkshire,  let 
me  tell  ye." 

"That  we  don't.    I  never  saw  so  many  all  at  one  time." 

The  hostess  helped  them  liberally,  and  the  wanderers 
enjoyed  them  to  the  full,  and  their  eyes  brightened,  and 
the  color  came  back  to  their  faces,  and  when,  like  a  true 
wife,  jVIrs.  Haynes  said,  "Now  tell  me  about  yours," 
Mrs.  Mansell  was  more  communicative  than  she  would 
have  been  to  an  older  acquaintance. 

"  Oh,  my  man  is  an  excellent  husband.  Indeed,  he 
hasn't  a  fault  that  I  know  of,  except  he  takes  a  drop  now 
and  then." 

"  Oh,  they  all  do  that  at  odd  times,"  said  the  other, 
carelessly. 

"And  even  that  he  has  given  up,"  said  Sarah, 
earnestly.  "  Only  he  was  so  ill  at  sea,  and  exhausted 
like.  How  else  to  account  for  his  behavior,  I  can't 
think ;  and  you  know  they  are  sometimes  obliged  to 
take  a  glass  medicinal." 

"  Ay,  that  is  their  chat ;  and  'tis  the  only  medicine 
where  one  glass  leads  to  another.  There,  don't  you 
begin  to  fret  again.  You'll  see  yours  long  before  I  shall 
see  mine."  Then  she  observed  that  Lucy  could  not  keep 
her  eyes  open.  So  she  went  farther  than  she  had 
intended  at  first;  she  determined  to  let  them  sleep  in 
the  house,  "  Take  your  bonnets,"  said  she,  "  and  come 
with  me."  She  opened  one  of  two  folding-doors,  and 
showed  them  into  a  larger  parlor,  with  a  bachelor's  bed 
in  it.     The  carpet  was  up,  and  stood  in  a  roll,  but  every- 


SINGLEHEART   AND  DOUBLEFACE.  93 

tiling  was  clean.  "  There,  this  room  is  let,  but  not  till 
twelve  to-morrow  ;  you  must  excuse  disorder.  You  put 
the  little  love  to  bed,  and  then  we  will  have  our  chat 
out.  Ah,"  said  she,  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner 
that  was  sweet  and  touching,  "  I  had  a  little  girl  by  my 
first  husband ;  she  would  be  about  the  age  of  yours  if  1 
could  have  kept  her  alive ;  so  my  heart  warmed  to  yours 
the  moment  I  saw  her  standing  beside  you  on  my  step, 
and  her  young  eyes  full  of  love  and  trouble." 

Mrs.  Haynes  cried  a  little  at  this  picture  and  her  own 
sad  reminiscences,  and  the  happy  mother  kissed  the  sor- 
rowful one,  and  she  kissed  her  in  return.  Then  Mrs. 
Haynes  withdrew  and  summoned  her  maid,  and  she 
cleared  away  the  things,  and  then  they  cleaned  the  cups 
and  saucers  and  had  a  gossip,  for  Mrs.  Haynes  must 
have  somebody  to  talk  to.  She  was  well  educated,  not 
like  Deborah  Smart ;  for  all  that,  she  never  read  a  book 
now,  and  those  who  won't  read  must  talk. 

The  folding-doors  Avere  thin,  and  did  not  meet  very 
close  ;  the  new  wood  had  shrunk :  and  Sarah,  without 
intending  it,  heard  a  word  every  now  and  then,  but  she 
paid  no  attention.  The  first  thing  the  careful  mother 
did  was  to  thrust  her  hand  and  arm  all  down  the  bed 
inside.  It  was  perfectly  dry  ;  but  being  a  native  of  this 
land  of  fogs  and  damp  and  prejudice,  she  resolved  not 
to  put  her  girl  into  it.  She  told  her  she  should  not 
undress  her.  So  Lucy  knelt  at  her  knee,  and  said  her 
prayers.  When  she  had  done,  she  asked  if  she  might 
pray  for  the  good  lady. 

"Ay,  do,  dear,  and  so  shall  I.  It's  all  we  can  do  for 
her."  She  pulled  down  the  counterpane,  laid  Lucy  on 
the  blanket,  and  put  a  shawl  over  her.  All  this  time 
she  was  thinking,  and  now  her  thoughts  found  vent. 
"  My  girl,  is  it  not  strange  that  those  who  are  sworn  to 
stay  by  us,  and  we  by  them,  should  fail  us,  and  that  a 


94  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

lady  who  never  saw  our  faces  before  should  open  her 
arms  and  her  house  to  us,  because  we  are  strangers  in  a 
foreign  land  ?     God  bless  her  ! " 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  street-door.  It  was 
followed  by  an  eager  exclamation  from  the  other  room  : 
"  O  Milly  !     Why,  sure  that's  my  husband's  knock." 

"  Oh !  I  hope  it  is,"  cried  Sarah,  as  Millicent  and  her 
mistress  dashed  into  the  passage. 

There  was  a  moment  of  suspense,  and  then  joyful 
exclamations  in  the  passage. 

"  It  is,  Lucy ;  I  am  so  glad,"  Sarah  cried. 

"  So  am  I,  mamma." 

"  This  way !  this  way  ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Haynes,  pull- 
ing what  seemed  to  Sarah  to  be  rather  an  undemonstra- 
tive husband  into  her  little  room.  "  I  must  have  him  all 
to  myself."     Then  there  was  a  long  and  warm  embrace. 

Sarah  was  somehow  conscious  of  what  was  going  on. 
She  sat  down  by  Lucy,  and  said,  a  little  sadly,  "  Ay, 
they  are  happy,  those  two."  Then  cheerfully,  "  Well, 
my  turn  jiuist  come." 

Sarah  Mansell  did  not  hear  exactly  what  was  said 
next,  but  I  will  tell  the  reader. 

Mrs.  Haynes,  who  had  now  turned  the  gas  up,  was 
concerned  at  her  husband's  appearance.  '•  La ! "  said 
she,  "  how  pale  you  look !  Sit  down  in  your  own  chair. 
(He  staggered  a  little,  but  got  into  the  chair  all  right.) 
I'll  make  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Tea  be  blowed  !  "  said  he  roughly. 

Sarah  heard  that  where  she  sat,  with  her  cheek  against 
Lucy's.  She  started  away  from  her,  half  puzzled,  half 
amazed. 

"  Gimme  —  drop  o'  brandy,"  said  the  man,  louder  still. 

Sarah  bounded  with  one  movement  into  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  then  stood  panting.  Even  Lucy  raised 
herself  on  her  hands  in  the  bed,  and  her  eyes  opened 
wide. 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  95 

"I  doubt  you  have  had  enough  of  that  already,"  was 
the  reply  in  the  next  room.  "  Why,  now  I  think  of  it, 
you  must  have  come  by  the  steamship  eight  hours  ago. 
How  many  have  you  liquored  with  before  your  wife's 
turn  came  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  like  a  dog's  bark,  loud  and 
sharp  and  .sullen. 

Lucy  heard,  and  slipped  off  the  bed  to  her  mother, 
full  of  curiosity.     "  Why,  mamma,"  said  she,  ''that's  "  — 

Before  she  could  say  the  word,  Sarah  closed  the  child's 
mouth  with  her  hand  almost  fiercely  ;  then  held  her 
tight,  and  pressed  the  now  terrified  girl's  face  against 
her  own  body. 

All  the  woman's  senses  were  so  excited  that  she  heard 
through  the  doors  as  if  they  had  been  paper.  And  this 
is  what  she  heard  this  man  say,  who  was  her  husband 
and  the  husband  of  the  woman  that  had  sheltered  her  : 

"  If  you  7nirst  know,  I  was  faint,  and  troubled  in  my 
mind,  and  just  took  one  glass  to  keep  my  heart  up  and 
clear  my  head,  and  then  one  led  to  another.  Never  you 
mind.  I'm  a  good  husband  to  ijoic,  the  best  in  England 
—  no,  the  best  in  New  York  —  the  best  in  all  the  world ; 
d'ye  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  wife,  ■''  I  hear  the  good  news ; 
but  please  don't  bawl  it  so  loud."  Then  she  whispered 
something. 

Sarah  caught  her  girl  up  like  a  baby,  was  at  the  bed 
in  a  moment,  laid  her  on  it,  and  dared  her  to  move  with 
such  a  look  and  such  a  commanding  gesture  as  the  girl 
had  never  seen  before.  Then  hissing  out,  "  I'll  know 
all  if  it  kills  me,"  she  glided  back  like  a  serpent  to  the 
door.     She  put  her  ear  to  the  very  aperture. 

Matthew  Haynes,  alias  James  Mansell,  lowered  his 
voice.  '"'  You  don't  know  the  sacrifice,  curse  it  all.  One 
drop  of  brandy,  for  mercy's  sake!" 


96  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  Only  one,  tlien."  She  gave  him  a  glass.  He  gulped 
it  down." 

"  Ah  !  —  it  is  no  use  snivelling ;  I  didn't  mean  to  do 
it  this  way.  But  it  was  sure  to  come  to  this.  I  was  in 
a  cleft  stick." 

"  Whatever  is  the  man  maundering  about  ? "  said 
Elizabeth.     "  0  cursed  liquor  ! " 

The  moment  she  raised  her  voice,  he  raised  his. 
"  D'ye  want  to  wrangle  ?  It  isn't  for  you  to  grumble  ! 
You  are  all  right.     I've  got  the  four  hundred  pounds 

I  WIRED  you  ABOUT ! " 

He  uttered  these  Avords,  not  loudly,  but  very  impress- 
ively, syllable  by  syllable. 

And  syllable  by  syllable  they  seemed  to  enter  Sarah 
Mansell's  body  like  javelins  made  of  ice.  The  poor 
creature  shrank  altogether  at  first,  and  then  slowly 
stretched  herself  out.  Her  arms  strangely  contorted 
themselves  in  agony,  but  at  last  spread  feebly  out,  and 
her  hands  clutched  vaguely,  as  if  she  Avas  on  a  real 
cross,  as  well  as  on  a  cross  of  mental  anguish ;  and 
when,  after  a  few  words  of  explanation,  that  told  her 
nothing  more,  the  other  woman  said,  "  Well,  you  are  a 
good  husband ;  I  must  kiss  you,"  the  limp  body  and 
drooping  head  of  the  true  wife  sank  helpless  against  the 
door  with  a  strange  sound ;  it  was  gentle,  yet  heavy  and 
corpse-like. 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  97 


CHAPTER   IX. 

DouBLEFACE,  like  others  who  have  crime  in  hand, 
was  stai"tled  by  a  sound  the  meaning  of  which  he  did 
not  know.  He  thrust  away  his  partner,  and  held  her  at 
arm's-length.     "  What  is  that  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Only  my  lodger,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I'll  go  and  see 
what  she  wants." 

She  stepped  toward  the  door,  against  which  Sarah  was 
lying  erect  (I  can  describe  it  no  other  way),  not  insensi- 
ble, but  utterly  limp  and  powerless  to  move,  and  indeed 
conscious  that  if  she  moved,  she  must  fall  headlong. 
At  this  crisis  Doubleface  turned  jealous  all  of  a  sudden. 

"  iSTo,"  said  he  ;  "  bother  your  lodger  !  I'm  the  master. 
Attend  to  me  first.  Here,  help  me  oif  with  my  coat 
and  waistcoat. 

"Now  give  me  my  dressing-gown. 

"Now  my  shoes." 

At  last  he  rolled  into  bed.  Now  Elizabeth  Haynes 
suspected  her  lodger  of  listening,  and  she  thought  it  was 
too  bad.     She  resolved  to  catch  her. 

She  took  off  her  shoes  and  stole  on  tiptoe  from  the 
bed  to  the  door.  At  the  same  moment,  Sarah  Mansell, 
having  nothing  more  to  learn,  made  an  effort  to  escape 
from  her  post  of  agony.  She  laid  a  hand  on  the  projec- 
tion of  the  door,  and  tottered  a  little  way ;  from  that  to 
a  chair  which  she  clutched,  and  just  as  Elizabeth  Haynes 
turned  the  door-handle  she  sank  down  by  the  bed,  and 
seizing  the  clothes  convulsively,  she  sank  on  her  knees 
with  her  arms  helpless  before  her,  as  the  door  opened 
and  Mrs.  Haynes  peeped  in.  Then  that  lady  thought 
7 


98  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

she  was  praying,  and  postponed  her  examination  until 
the  morning. 

She  was  not  so  far  wrong;  for  the  first  thing  the 
betrayed  wife  did,  when  she  had  power,  was  to  pray 
over  her  fatherless  child.  She  prayed  to  God  for  hours, 
and  I  think  He  heard  her.  It  did  not  appear  so  at  first. 
In  that  horrible  night  she  lived  a  life  of  agony.  She 
thought  of  all  she  had  done  and  suffered  for  that  man, 
and  she  was  the  milch  cow,  and  on  the  other  side  that 
door  was  the  wife. 

Three  thousand  miles  from  home  —  a  deserted  wife. 
If  ever  a  woman  lived  a  year  of  torture  in  a  night,  she 
did.  It  exhausted  her  body  so  that  she  actually  fell 
asleep  for  half  an  hour. 

She  dreamed  the  events  of  years ;  but  at  last  her  ever- 
changing  dream  culminated  in  a  vision.  She  saw  before 
her  her  own  little  parlor.  In  it  sat  Deborah  and  Pinder 
looking  at  a  picture.  The  picture  had  no  features  to 
her,  but  Deborah's  face  and  Finder's  were  quite  clear, 
and  beautiful  with  affection.  They  said  it  was  her  pict- 
ure, as  beautiful  as  herself,  and  they  feared  they  should 
never  see  her  again.  She  dreamed  she  wanted  to  com- 
fort them,  and  say,  "You  shall  —  you  shall,"  but  her 
tongue  was  tied.  The  two  faces  then  became  angelic 
with  affection,  and  vanished. 

She  awoke.  She  came  back  by  degrees  to  her  own 
misery.  But  how  is  this  ?  The  anguish  that  was  so 
keen  remains,  but  no  longer  pierces,  stuns,  galls,  and 
maddens.  It  is  blunted,  and  her  heart,  seems  turned  to 
stone.        ^ 

"  Villain  —  drunkard  —  thief  and  traitor ! "  said  she  to 
herself.  ''All  this  time  everybody  knew  him  but  me. 
I've  shed  raj  last  tear  for  him.  I've  turned  against  him. 
I'm  a  stone." 

She  turned  up  the  gas,  and  looked  at  Lucy.     This 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  99 

moment  she  became  conscious,  then,  that  Lucy  had  no 
longer  a  rival  in  her  heart. 

She  resolved  to  leave  the  place  at  once. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  the  money  Doubleface  got 
out  of  her  to  make  Lucy's  fortune,  as  he  said.  She 
stooped  over  Lucy  and  kissed  her,  too  softly  to  wake 
her.  "  No,  my  fatherless  girl,"  said  she,  "  money  is  noth- 
ing to  me  now,  but  they  sha'n't  rob  you.  You  shall  have 
your  own,  if  they  kill  me." 

She  sat  down  quietly,  and  thought  what  was  the  best 
way  to  execute  the  design  she  had  conceived  in  a  moment; 
and  not  every  one  of  us  would  have  hit  upon  the  right 
order  of  action  so  well.  She  began  by  doing  in  her  own 
room  all  that  could  be  done  there  at  all.  She  put  a 
small  table  near  the  gaslight,  laid  her  scissors  on  it, 
threaded  a  needle,  and  fastened  it  to  her  sleeve. 

Then  she  went  softly,  opened  one  of  the  folding-doors, 
and  satisfied  herself  that  Doubleface  and  his  other  wife 
were  asleep.  Then  she  slipped  into  their  room  and 
turned  up  their  gas  a  very  little,  found  his  trousers  and 
his  waistcoat  under  them,  took  away  the  waistcoat  to 
her  own  room,  and  left  the  door  ajar. 

She  brought  the  waistcoat  to  her  table,  cut  the  stitches, 
drew  them  away,  took  out  the  bank-notes,  and  put  them 
in  her  bosom,  all  as  coolly  as  possible. 

Then  she  sat  quietly  down  and  sewed  up  the  top  of 
the  pocket  again,  imitating  the  very  number  of  the 
stitches  she  had  originally  put  in. 

Then  she  took  the  waistcoat,  went  into  the  next  room, 
and  put  it  back  on  the  chair  exactly  where  she  had  found 
it,  and  laid  the  trousers  on  it. 

Then,  having  resumed  her  own,  and  no  longer  caring 
so  very  much  whether  she  was  caught  or  not  by  a  man 
whom  she  could  send  to  prison  for  bigamy,  she  actually 
drew  the  curtain  back  a  little^  and  folding  her  arms,  sur- 

7ol.  9—16 


100  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

veyed  the  couple  steadily  with  such  an  expression  as 
seldom  looks  out  of  mortal  eye.  The  husband  lay  on 
his  back  snoring  loud,  as  he  always  did  after  excess. 
The  other  woman  he  had  deceived  lay  on  her  side  as 
innocent  as  a  child,  and  sleeping  like  one. 

The  resolute  woman  who  looked  on  stood  there  to  be 
cured  or  die.  Her  flesh  crawled  and  quivered  at  first, 
but  she  stood  and  clinched  her  teeth,  and  deliberately 
burned  this  sight  into  her  heart,  that  she  might  never 
forget  it,  nor,  by  forgetting,  be  induced  to  forgive  it. 

Soon  the  day  dawned,  and  a  servant  unbolted  the  street- 
door. 

Then  Sarah  made  Lucy  get  up  in  silence,  both  put  on 
their  bonnets,  and  she  took  the  little  girl  through  the  other 
room,  keeping  her  on  her  other  side,  so  that  she  could  see 
nothing,  and  walked  out  of  the  house  without  a  word. 

Late  in  the  morning  James  Mansell  awoke  from  a 
heavy  sleep,  and  found  himself  alone  in  bed.  He  soon 
realized  the  situation  drink  had  blunted  over-night,  and 
it  frightened  him.  His  thoughts  were  bitter.  How 
drink  had  foiled  all  his  cunning ! 

He  had  settled  in  his  sober  mind  to  play  both  women 
with  consummate  skill;  not  to  go  near  Elizabeth  in  New 
York  till  he  had  settled  Sarah  in  Boston,  and  stayed  with 
her  a  month  at  least.  What  was  to  he  done  now  ?  Why, 
snatch  a  mouthful,  and  then  hunt  after  Sarah,  and  tell 
her  some  lie,  and  fly  with  her  to  Boston,  and  write 
Elizabeth  another  lie  to  account  for  his  dej)arture. 

He  burst  through  the  folding-doors,  and  threw  them 
both  wide  open  for  air.  In  the  room  his  haggard  face 
looked  into  sat  Elizabeth,  smiling  and  making  his  tea, 
and  getting  breakfast  ready  for  him ;  her  quick  ear  had 
heard  him  move  in  the  bedroom. 

"That's  right,"  said  he;  "give  me  a  morsel  to  eat.  I 
must  be  off  to  the  pier  directly  for  my  luggage." 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  101 

"What,  is  3^our  money  and  all  down  there  ?  " 

"  Not  likely.     That  never  leaves  me  night  and  day." 

"  La !  then  you  might  show  it  to  me,"  said  she. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  believe  I  have  got  it,"  said  he. 

"The  idea!  Of  course  I  believe  your  word."  She 
filled  him  a  cup  of  tea,  and  said  no  more.  It  was  he 
who  returned  to  the  subject. 

"  Come,  now,  you'd  like  to  see  it,  and  make  sure  ?  " 

"Why,  Matthew,"  said  she,  "what  woman  wouldn't 
that  had  heard  so  much  about  it  ?  " 

"  Here  goes,  then,"  said  he,  and  took  off  his  coat. 

"  What,  in  your  coat  ?  "  said  she.  "  Oh,  dear !  That 
is  not  a  very  safe  place,  I  am  sure." 

"Guess  again,"  said  he.  Then  he  opened  his  waist- 
coat, and  showed  her  the  inside  pocket. 

She  peered  across  the  table  at  it,  and  approved. 

"  I  see,"  said  she.  "  Who'd  have  thought  a  man  had 
so  much  sense  ?  "  On  reflection,  however,  she  was  not 
so  pleased.  "  Who  sewed  it  in  for  you  ? "  said  she, 
sharply.  "I  can  see  the  stitches  from  here.  'Twas  a 
woman." 

"  Well,  then,  let  a  woman  unsew  it,"  was  all  the  reply 
he  deigned ;  and  he  chucked  her  the  waistcoat,  and  went 
on  with  his  breakfast  very  fast. 

She  took  the  waistcoat  on  her  knee,  whipped  her 
scissors  out  of  her  pocket,  and  carefully  snipped  the 
stitches ;  then  opened  the  pocket,  and  groped  in  it  with 
her  lingers ;  "  Well,  but,"  said  she,  "  there's  no  money 
here." 

"  Gammon,"  said  he,  with  his  mouth  full. 

She  groped  it  thoroughly.  "  But  I  say  there  isn't," 
said  she. 

"  Don't  tell  lies.     Give  it  me." 

She  gave  it  him  and  watched  him  keenly,  and  even 
suspiciously. 


102  SINGLEHEAKT   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

He  felt  the  pocket  —  groped  it  —  clutched  it  —  turned 
it  inside  out :  there  was  nothing. 

"  What  in  Heaven  is  this  ?  "  he  gasped.  "  Am  I  mad  ? 
Am  I  dreaming?  It  is  impossible.  Cut  the  thing  to 
pieces  !  Tear  it  to  atoms  !  Robbed !  robbed  !  I'll  go 
for  the  police !  I'll  search  every  woman  in  the  house." 
And  he  started  wildly  up. 

But  Elizabeth  rose  too,  and  said,  very  firmly,  "  You'll 
do  nothing  of  the  kind ;  there  are  no  thieves  here.  Now 
sit  down  and  think." 

"  I  can't ;  I'm  all  in  a  whirl." 

"You  must.  Tell  me  the  name  of  all  the  bars  you 
drank  at  before  you  came  here." 

He  groaned,  and  mentioned  several. 

"  Were  there  any  women  about  ?  ** 

"  Plenty  at  some  of  them." 

"  Did  you  take  your  coat  off  ?  " 

"Not  likely.  I  tell  you  I  felt  them  in  my  pocket 
before  I  went  to  bed." 

"  Ah !  you  thought  so,  perhaps.  Now,  who  sewed 
them  in  for  you  ?  " 

"No  matter." 

"  Who  sewed  them  in  for  you  ?  " 

"  The  tailor." 

"  No,  Matthew,  a  woman  sewed  them  in ;  and  a  woman 
sewed  the  empty  pocket  up  again  this  last  time.  It  is 
not  a  man's  work,  and,  besides,  men  are  not  so  artful  as 
all  that.  There's  more  behind  than  you  have  told  me," 
and  she  fell  into  a  brown  study. 

Doubleface  took  his  resolution  in  a  moment.  He 
would  go  to  the  pier,  wait  there  till  Sarah  came  for  her 
boxes,  and  tell  her  he  had  been  set  upon  and  robbed. 
Then  he  would  go  away  with  her  and  work  for  a  month, 
till  she  got  more  money  from  England. 

So  he  told  Elizabeth  he  would  take  the  police  to  all 
those  bars,  and  he  went  out  hastily. 


SmGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  103 

She  made  no  objection ;  she  sat  there,  and  brooded 
over  this  strange  mystery. 

By  and  by  she  had  a  visitor  —  an  unexpected  one,  and 
one  she  could  speak  her  mind  to  on  this  subject  more 
openly  than  to  her  husband. 

Sarah  Mansell,  on  leaving  that  house,  asked  her  way 
to  the  pier.  To  her  surprise  it  was  very  near.  All  her 
desire  now  was  to  get  home.  Her  heart,  always  single, 
turned  homeward  entirely.  Jealousy  had  tortured  her 
too  much.  The  torture  that  kills  defeats  itself,  and  her 
anguish  had  killed  love  as  well  as  agonized  it.  And 
then  she  had  her  own  special  character ;  for  women  vary 
as  men  do  :  in  some  jealousy  preponderates  so  that  they 
cannot  resign  an  unworthy  man  who  belongs  to  them  to 
another  woman ;  in  others  jealousy,  though  terribly 
powerful,  is  curbed  by  pride  and  self-respect.  These 
are  the  high-spirited  women  who  will  be  the  only  one  or 
none  ;  and  note  this,  the  more  they  love  a  man  the  more 
they  will  have  him  all  to  themselves,  or  part  with  him 
root  and  branch :  wild  horses  could  not  tear  them  from 
that  alternative.  These  loving  but  resolute  women 
belong  to  no  class  in  society,  and  are  found  in  every 
class.  Books,  journals,  education,  ignorance,  neither 
make  nor  mar  them.  It  is  a  law  of  their  nature,  though 
not  the  general  law. 

Sarah  found  that  a  steamer  started  for  England  that 
day.  She  instantly  took  a  berth  for  Lucy  and  herself, 
and  meantime  she  took  her  boxes  away  in  a  cab,  lest 
James  Mansell  should  come  and  find  them  there,  and 
wait  about  for  her.  She  did  not  fear  him  one  bit;  but 
she  abhorred  the  sight  of  him  now. 

She  directed  a  carman  to  drive  her  to  any  good  hotel 
he  chose,  only  let  it  be  a  mile  distant. 

James   Mansell   came   to  the  pier,  inquired  for  her 


104  SINGLEHEAET   AND   DOUBLEFACB. 

boxes,  and  found  tliat  liis  wife  had  removed  them  and 
gone  to  a  hotel.  The  carman  who  took  her  had  not  re- 
turned, but  a  person  James  feed  promised  to  ask  him  on 
his  return  to  what  hotel  he  had  driven  the  lady.  Then 
Mansell  went  back  to  get  some  money  from  Elizabeth ; 
for  he  had  drunk  all  his  loose  cash  the  day  before. 

The  visitor  she  received  meantime  was  Solomon  B. 
Grace.  He  came  in  rather  sheepishly,  and  began  to 
plead  her  permission,  but  she  cut  all  that  short  very 
brusquely. 

"  You  come  at  the  right  time.  I  have  been  robbed  of 
four  hundred  pounds." 

Then  she  told  him  all  that  had  passed  between  her 
and  Matthew,  and  Solomon  offered  his  theory,  videlicet, 
that  the  notes  had  never  existed. 

«  Well,  then,  I  think  they  did,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  But 
here's  my  trouble.  There's  a  person  I  suspect ;  but  I 
don't  like  to  tell  him  ;  he  might  blame  me  for  housing  a 
stranger,  and  indeed  it  was  a  foolish  thing  of  me  — 
there !  —  I  gave  a  night's  lodging  to  an  Englishwoman 
and  her  child.  She  said  she  had  come  by  the  steamer, 
and  lost  her  husband.  I  am  afraid  she  never  had  one. 
Anyway,  she  slept  here  in  this  very  room,  and,  Solomon, 
whilst  my  man  was  telling  me  in  there  he  had  got  me  the 
four  hundred  pounds,  she  came  bounce  against  that  door, 
and  I  thought  at  the  time  she  was  listening." 

"  She  is  the  one  that  did  the  trick,"  was  Solomon's 
conclusion.  However,  to  make  sure,  he  asked  if  Mr. 
Haynes  had  told  her  where  the  notes  were  while  the 
woman  was  listening. 

"He  must  have,"  said  Elizabeth.  Then  she  thought 
a  bit.  "  Why,  la,  no,  he  didn't.  She  could  hear  no  more 
than  I  did,  and  certainly  I  didn't  know,  nor  he  didn't 
tell  me  until  this  morning,  breakfast-time.  There  —  she 
couldn't  know  —  unless  she  had  sewn  them  in,  and  that's 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  105 

against  all  reason.  It's  a  mystery;  it  is  quite  beyond 
me." 

Solomon  puzzled  over  it  in  turn.  He  said  there  was 
a  good-looking  woman  sat  waiting  for  her  husband  best 
part  of  two  hours  on  the  pier,  and  a  child  with  her. 

«  A  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  girl." 

"  What  had  she  on  ?  " 

"Didn't  observe." 

"  What  was  the  child  like  ?  " 

"  Darkish  —  beautiful  black  eyes  —  a  picture  !'* 

*'  That  is  them,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  You  saw  no  hus- 
band, I'll  go  bail." 

"  Ay,  but  I  did  —  saw  his  back,  however.  That  one 
is  no  thief  —  a  plain,  honest  woman,  with  a  face  some- 
thing between  a  calf  and  an  angel." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  she  looked  honest ;  and  if 
her  tale  was  true,  it  seems  hard  to  suspect  her.  But  it 
is  a  puzzle." 

Then  Solomon  B.  Grace  summed  up  the  evidence  : 
"  He  drinks  and  gambles.  One  of  those  ways  is  enough. 
Such  a  man  is  soon  eased  of  four  hundred  pounds  in 
New  York  City.  I've  seen  a  many  drained  out  here  with 
dice  and  drink,  but  I  never  knew  a  fool's  pocket  picked 
of  notes  sewn  into  the  lining.  Puzzle  or  not,  that's  a 
lie,  I  swan." 

The  latter  part  of  this  summing-up  was  heard  by  Mr. 
Mansell  from  the  parlor,  he  having  slipped  into  the  house 
the  back  way.  He  came  in  lowering,  and  put  in  his 
word.  "Did  you  ever  know  an  honest  man  slip  into  a 
house  and  backbite  a  man  to  his  wife  ?  " 

Solomon  turned  red  with  ire  and  shame,  for  his  posi- 
tion was  not  a  perfect  one.  "  Can't  say  ever  I  did, 
but  I've  known  folk  the  truth  was  pison  to  wherever 
told." 


106  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  And  the  truth  is  that  you  are  a  discarded  lover  of 
my  wife's,  and  a  mischief-making  hypocrite." 

Elizabeth  was  alarmed,  for  she  knew  Solomon  could 
wring  this  bantam's  neck  in  a  moment,  and  she  had  no 
blind  confidence  in  his  pacific  disposition,  though  he 
vaunted  it  so  highly.  "La!  Matthew,  do  you  want 
every  bone  in  your  skin  broken  ?  And,  Solomon,  you 
must  excuse  him  for  my  sake ;  he  is  in  great  trouble. 
I  won't  detain  you  at  present." 

"That  means  make  tracks,"  said  poor  Solomon.  "I'm 
pacific,"  said  he,  almost  crying  with  vexation.  "  I'll  go, 
sartin.     I'd  better  go.     But,  Britisher  "  — 

"Well,  what  is  it,  old  Ohio?" 

"  A  word  at  parting." 

'<  In  Chicagoan  ?  " 

" '  Every  dog  has  his  day.'  That's  English,  I  rather 
think." 

When  he  was  gone,  Elizabeth  took  a  cheerful  tone. 
She  told  James  she  did  not  for  one  moment  believe 
he  had  drunk  or  gambled  away  four  hundred  pounds. 
"  But,"  said  she,  "  it  is  no  use  being  angry  with  Solomon 
Grace  for  saying  what  all  the  world  says."  Then  after 
a  little  while  she  played  the  philosopher.  "If  you  gave 
me  my  choice,  and  said,  'Will  you  have  four  hundred 
pounds  or  a  sober,  industrious  husband  ? '  do  you  think 
I'd  choose  the  money  ?  Never.  So  don't  let  us  cry 
over  spilt  milk,  but  just  you  drop  gambling  —  you  don't 
drink  as  you  used  —  and  we  shall  do  first-rate.  The 
house  is  full,  and  all  the  boarders  like  me.  It  always 
will  be  full  now.  Starting  was  the  only  trouble.  I  will 
undertake  to  keep  you,  if  you  will  only  spend  your 
evenings  with  me." 

James  Mansell  pretended  to  jump  at  these  terms,  and 
Elizabeth  invited  him  to  go  out  walking  with  her  in  an 
hour's  time. 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  107 

He  agreed  with  feigned  alacrity,  and  she  dressed  for 
the  occasion,  and  they  walked  out  arm  in  arm,  she  gay 
as  a  lark,  he  moody  and  distracted,  and  attending  to  her 
flow  of  talk  only  by  fits  and  starts. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Mansell  and  Lucy  had  a  nice  wash 
and  a  good  breakfast,  and  by  and  by  a  conveyance  was 
at  the  door  to  take  their  boxes  to  the  steamer. 

But  Lucy  was  most  unwilling.  "  0  mamma ! "  she 
said,  "we  have  only  just  come." 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  was  the  dogged  reply. 

"But  everything  is  so  beautiful,  and  the  people  sof 
kind  :  they  call  me  '  miss.' " 

"My  child,"  said  her  mother,  "I  must  go  home. 
Wounded  creatures  all  go  home  ;  and  I  am  wounded  to 
the  heart.     I  have  nobody  now  but  you  :  be  kind  to  me." 

Lucy  flung  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck.  "O 
mamma  !  I'll  go  with  you  to  Jericho." 


108  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

It  seemed  as  if  everything  was  to  be  smoothed  for 
their  going  home.  At  the  docks  they  found  Solomon 
B.  Grace  superintending  custom-house  work,  and  Sarah 
beckoned  him,  and  asked  him  how  she  should  get  her 
boxes  on  board. 

"  Going  home  already  ?  What,  without  your  hus- 
band ?  " 

"  Sir,  my  husband  has  abandoned  me." 

"What,  altogether?" 

«  Me  and  my  child." 

"  The  miserable  cuss  ! " 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  he  said  it  was  his 
business  to  obey  her  orders.  He  couldn't  leave  that 
spot  just  then,  but  if  she  would  give  him  the  ticket, 
his  mate  should  stow  her  things  in  the  cabin.  This  was 
done  accordingly.  Meantime,  he  asked  leave  to  put  her 
a  question. 

"  As  many  as  you  please,"  said  she  calmly. 

"  Where  did  you  sleep  last  night  ?  " 

"  With  a  lady  who  called  herself  Mrs.  Haynes." 

"  Who  lives  in  Christopher  Street  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  unfortunately.  But  since  you  ask, 
perhaps  you  know  that  Mrs.  Haynes." 

"  I  rather  think  I  do." 

"  That  is  curious." 

''Well,  no.  I've  known  her  nine  years.  Why,  her 
first  husband  was  a  cousin  of  mine.  When  he  died,  I 
always  intended  to  be  number  two ;  only  I  didn't  like  to 
ask  her  in  the  graveyard  ;  but  that  'ere  Britisher  warn't 
so  nice  ;  he  slipped  in  ahead  of  me." 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  109 

Sarah  turned  her  brown  eye  full  on  him  with  growing 
interest.  "  I  understand  perfectly,"  said  she.  "  You 
respected  her  most  because  you  loved  her  best." 

Solomon  stared  at  her.  He  was  utterly  amazed,  but 
at  the  same  time  charmed,  at  this  gentle  stranger  read- 
ing him  so  favorably  all  in  a  moment,  and  reading  hira 
right.  He  asked  her  a  little  sheepishly  if  he  might 
make  so  free  as  to  take  her  hand.  "  You  are  very  wel- 
come, I  am  sure,"  said  she,  smiling  calmly. 

"I'll  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  he,  "though  it's  ag'in 
myself.  I  love  her  still ;  can't  get  her  out  of  my  head 
nohow." 

"  Why  should  you  ?  "  said  she,  loftily. 

Solomon  stared  at  that. 

"  It's  like  poor  Joe  Pinder,"  said  she,  half  to  herself. 

"  Can't  say  ;  don't  know  the  family." 

Sarah  began  to  wonder.  Presently  she  scanned  him 
all  over  with  her  steady  eyes  :  "  I  think,"  said  she,  slowly, 
"  it  must  be  my  duty  to  write  a  note  to  Mrs.  Haynes." 

"  About  her  housing  you  for  the  night  ?  " 

"About  that  and  other  things.  You  know  her  and 
respect  her  ;  will  you  give  it  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will." 

"  Into  her  own  hand  ?  " 

"And  glad  of  the  job." 

"  Not  into  the  hands  of  the  man." 

"  What  ?  her  husband  —  the  cuss  —  not  likely." 

Satisfied  on  that  point,  Sarah  said  she  would  like  to 
go  on  board  out  of  the  bustle.  She  could  write  the  letter 
in  the  cabin ;  it  would  be  a  short  one.  Then  Solomon 
took  her  and  Lucy  on  board.  After  some  little  prepara- 
tion, Sarah  took  paper  and  an  envelope  out  of  her  bag : 
she  had,  everything  ready  to  write  to  her  sister.  She  sat 
down  and  wrote  to  the  other  wife  of  James  Mansell. 
Solomon  B.  Grace  had  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  watch 


110  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

her,  and  he  did  wonder  what  that  thoughtful  brow  and 
white  hand  were  sending  to  the  woman  he  still  loved. 

It  was  no  simple  matter ;  the  Englishwoman  had  a 
difficult  task  before  her.  She  paused  at  every  line.  Her 
face  was  solemn,  grave,  and  powerful.  So  the  puzzle 
deepened.  Solomon  could  see  this  was  not  a  woman 
writing  merely  to  thank  another  for  a  night's  lodging. 
When  she  had  finished  it,  she  folded  it  and  secured  it 
very  carefully,  and  beckoned  Solomon  B.  Grace. 

He  came  to  her. 

"  You  will  give  this  letter  into  her  own  hand,  and  see 
her  read  it  ?  " 

"  I  wall ;  who  shall  I  say  it  is  from  ?  " 

"  Sarah  Mansell." 

"  Oh  !  Sarah  Mansell.     You  are  Sarah  Mansell  ?  " 

"  I  am  Sarah  Mansell."  Then  she  said,  very  thought- 
fully, *'  This  Mrs.  Haynes,  have  you  a  real  affection  for 
her  ?  » 

"  I  am  a  bachelor  for  her  sake,  that  is  all,"  said  he, 
despondently. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  him.  "  Perhaps  some  day  you 
may  be  a  married  man  for  her  sake." 

Solomon  shook  his  head.     "  Is  that  a  conundrum  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  the  future  is  a  riddle.  What  I  am 
doing  now  proves  that.  Who  knows  ?  You  have  been 
very  kind  to  me.  Blessings  come  to  those  who  are  good 
to  the  stranger,  the  fatherless,  and  the  widow.  Well,  my 
child  is  fatherless  this  day,  and  I  am  a  deserted  wife,  all 
alone  on  the  great  sea,  with  nobody  but  my  child  and  my 
God." 

Poor  Solomon  might  have  told  her  those  two  were 
more  than  seventy-seven  bad  husbands,  but  she  went 
too  straight  for  the  tender  heart  that  lay  beneath  his 
breast. 

"Don't  ye  now,  don't  ye,"  he  snivelled;  "you'll  make 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  Ill 

me  cry  enough  to  wash  a  palace-car.  You're  not  alone, 
you  sha'n't  be  alone.  Here,  little  beauty,  come  and  com- 
fort mother.  Solomon  B.  Grace  isn't  much,  but  he'll 
stand  by  you  till  she  starts,  and  then  you  must  just  keep 
your  eye  square  for  home,  like  that  ship's  cut-water 
there.     You  have  got  friends  to  home  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  You  are  loved  to  home  ?  " 

"I  am,  sir." 

''Don't  I  tell  you  ?  They're  waiting  for  you ;  they  are 
thinking  of  you." 

"  They  are.     I  saw  them  in  a  vision  last  night." 

"  It  stands  to  reason ;  you  was  born  to  be  loved." 

"  I  thought  so  once,  sir." 

"  I  think  so  now,  and  I'm  sure  of  it.  You'd  bewitch 
creation.  Why,  I'd  cut  myself  in  pieces  to  serve  you. 
Darn  me  if  I  wouldn't  take  you  safe  to  that  ar  island  and 
hand  you  to  your  friends,  and  then  slip  back,  if  it  warn't 
for  the  letter." 

Leaving  this  good  soul  to  comfort  Sarah  Mansell  till 
the  ship  was  cleared  of  strangers,  1  must  go  to  meet  a 
less  interesting  couple,  who  are  coming  this  way. 

As  James  took  the  walk  merely  to  please  Elizabeth, 
he  went  wherever  she  chose.  They  called  at  a  provision 
shop  and  bought  the  things  he  liked.  Elizabeth  was 
handsome  and  well  dressed,  and  many  admiring  glances 
were  cast  on  her.  Her  companion's  vanity  was  tickled 
at  this.  Only  what  rather  spoiled  the  walk  was  that  he 
longed  so  at  that  very  moment  to  be  raking  the  town  for 
the  other. 

Presently  they  came  oiit  in  sight  of  the  quay,  and 
James  began  to  fidget  again.  He  burned  to  get  away 
from  his  companion  to  see  if  his  agent  had  news  of 
Sarah,  and,  besides  that,  he  had  a  dread  of  open  spaces 
—  they  facilitate  surprises.     Sarah  might  see  him  from 


112  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACB. 

a  distance  walking  with  Elizabeth.  This  extreme  un- 
easiness did  not  escape  the  latter.  ''  Why,  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  now  ?  "  said  she.  "  You  keep  looking 
about  as  if  you  had  done  something,  and  expected  the 
police  to  pounce  on  you  from  every  corner." 

"  You  wouldn't  be  easy  if  you  had  lost  four  hundred 
pounds,  and  couldn't  tell  how." 

"Yes,  I  would,  if  I  could  do  without  them.  They 
were  for  me,  but  I  don't  fret,  and  why  waste  another 
thought  on  them,  my  dear  ?  " 

At  this  moment  the  steamer's  bell  rang.  "There, 
now,"  said  Elizabeth,  kindly,  "stay  and  see  the  ship 
start." 

"Lend  me  a  couple  of  dollars,"  said  he.  She  gave  it 
him  directly.  "Wait  a  bit  for  me  here,"  he  said,  and 
Elizabeth  seated  herself  in  a  sort  of  pleasant  waiting- 
room  near  the  main  entrance  to  the  piers,  and  waited. 

He  darted  into  a  shop  and  replenished  his  flask.  Then 
he  ran  to  find  his  agent,  and  got  from  him  the  name  of 
the  hotel  Sarah  Mansell  had  gone  to.  He  was  eager  to 
go  there  at  once,  but  dared  not.  Elizabeth  had  a  temper. 
Doubleface  was  fairly  puzzled  between  the  two.  How- 
ever, it  was  only  postponed  for  an  hour.  Elizabeth,  with 
her  house  full  of  boarders,  would  not  be  out  more  than 
that,  and  then  he  would  fly  on  the  wings  of  penitence  to 
Sarah,  and  not  leave  her  for  the  other  till  he  had  hum- 
bugged her  thoroughly  and  eradicated  all  suspicion. 

So  he  came  back  to  Elizabeth.  She  was  sitting  there 
quite  at  ease.     "  Curse  it,"  said  he,  "  she  must  go  home." 

But  now  ropes  were  cast  off,  and  every  preparation 
made  for  the  vessel  leaving.  This  is  admirably  managed 
in  New  York.  The  largest  steamer  just  glides  away  into 
the  Atlantic  like  a  river-boat  starting  upon  the  Thames. 

"  Ah,"  said  Doubleface,  tormented  by  the  situation  he 
had  created  for  himself,  "  I  wish  I  was  going  in  you  — 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  113 

alone."  He  stepped  forward  and  saw  her  move  away. 
She  lay  against  the  quay  amidships,  but  she  was  so 
long  that  it  took  a  minute  before  her  after-cabin  came 
opposite. 

A  woman,  who  had  caught  sight  of  James  Mansell, 
but  hidden  herself  till  then,  rushed  along  the  deck  to 
the  poop,  followed  by  a  girl.  She  whipped  a  packet  of 
notes  out  of  her  bosom,  and  brandished  them  high  in  the 
air  to  him,  then  drew  her  child's  head  to  her  waist. 

That  is  what  she  did.  But  how  can  words  convey  the 
grandeur  of  those  impassioned  gestures,  the  swiftness  of 
their  sequence,  and  the  tale  that  towering  figure  and  those 
flaming  eyes  told  to  the  villain  and  fool  who  had  pos- 
sessed her,  plagued  her  for  years,  and  hit  upon  the  only 
way  to  lose  her  ? 

He  started  back,  bewildered,  blasted,  terrified,  and 
glared  after  her  in  stupid  dismay. 

While  he  stood  petrified,  a  voice  hissed  in  his  ear, 
"  You  know  —  where  —  your  —  notes  —  are  —  now  ! " 

It  was  Elizabeth  at  his  shoulder,  but  a  little  behind 
him.  Doubleface  turned  slowly,  aghast  with  this  new 
danger.     He  gasped,  but  could  not  articulate. 

Elizabeth  laid  her  right  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
pointed  to  Sarah  with  her  left.  "  Why,  that  woman  is 
shaking  them  m  your  face ! "  Then  she  took  him  by 
both  shoulders  and  turned  him  square  to  her.  "  Your 
face,  that  is  as  white  as  ashes  !"  In  this  position  she 
drove  her  eyes  into  his,  and  clutched  him  firmly.  *'  What 
is  there  between  that  woman  and  you  ?  She  has  taken 
your  money,  yet  she  is  not  afraid.  She  vaunts  it,  and 
it's  you  that  tremble.     Oh !  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

In  her  excitement  she  had  grasped  him  so  firmly  that 
her  nails  hurt  him  severely  through  his  clothes,  but  now 
that  clutch  relaxed,  and  she  felt  weak.     "What  does  this 
mean  ?  "  she  repeated. 
8 


114  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

The  other  creature,  accustomed  to  lie,  now  tried  to 
escape,  hopeless  as  it  seemed.  He  stammered :  "  I  don't 
know.  I  saw  a  woman  shake  something  or  other  at  me  — 
was  it  at  me  ?  " 

"  Who  else  ?  " 

"I  fancied  she  looked  past  me  somehow.  Where  were 
you  ?  '* 

"  Behind  you  at  the  door." 

"  Could  it  be  to  you  ?  "  The  desperate  wretch  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  saying.  To  his  surprise  this  bold 
suggestion  told. 

"  Why,  of  course  it  might  be  to  me." 

He  seized  this  advantage  artfully.  "More  likely  to 
neither  of  us,"  said  he;  "and  yet  I  don't  know; 
since  I  came  home  everything  that  happens  is  a 
mystery." 

"  That  is  true,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  never  know  the 
meaning  of  it  all." 

"  I'm  as  much  in  the  dark  as  you  are,"  said  he,  "  and 
you  can  believe  me  or  not,  as  you  like."  Then  he  took  a 
step  or  two  away  to  show  her  he  was  not  disposed  to 
quarrel  with  her.  That  answers  sometimes  when  a  body 
is  in  the  wrong. 

This  stroke  of  policy  left  room  for  a  third  figure  to 
step  in  between  them,  and  that  position  was  promptly 
taken  by  Solomon  B.  Grace. 

"  Letter  from  Sarah  Mansell." 

Doubleface  turned  with  a  yell,  and  made  a  grab  at  the 
letter.  Solomon,  who  was  holding  it  out  with  his  right 
hand  toward  Elizabeth,  stopped  the  rush  with  his  left, 
and  mocked  the  attempt.  "No,  yer  don't,"  said  the 
stalwart  giant :  "  I'm  under  Mrs.  Sarah  Mansell's  orders 
as  this  letter  is  not  to  be  intercepted  by  any  darned  cuss 
whatever,  but  guv  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Haynes,  and 
tead  before  me  to  make  sure." 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  115 

Elizabeth  stared,  but  hesitated  to  defy  her  husband 
before  Solomon  Grace.  "But  I  don't  know  her,"  said 
she,  looking  at  the  letter  in  Solomon's  hand. 

"  Yes,  ye  do  —  it's  the  lady  that  slept  at  your  house 
last  night." 

Elizabeth  uttered  a  little  cry  and  panted.  She  almost 
snatched  the  letter  now,  and  said,  "  Then  she  did  listen 
at  the  door." 

"  Like  enough,"  said  James.  "  Then  of  course  she'll 
know  what  to  say  to  set  us  all  by  the  ears." 

"  Yes,  but,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  she  knows  more  than  you 
ever  told  me  that  night.  She  knew  where  to  find  those 
notes  —  ay,  those  that  hide  can  find.  My  fingers  tremble ; 
open  it  for  me,  Solomon." 

He  opened  the  letter,  and  handed  it  to  Elizabeth,  and 
dared  James  Mansell  to  interfere.  Elizabeth  read  the 
letter  very  slowly,  and  piecemeal  —  read  it  how  she 
could  indeed ;  for  her  turn  was  come  to  have  her  bosom 
pierced. 

Madam,  —  You  and  I — are  both  unl'ortmiate.  You  are 
betrayed,  and  I  am  deceived.  If  I  tell  the  truth,  I  must  pain 
you;  if  I  withhold  it.  he  will  deceive  you  still.  ["Oh,  what 
is  coming?  "said  poor  Elizabeth.]  The  man  that  passes  for 
Matthew  Haynes  [she  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  and  read 
again]  passes  for  Matthew  Haynes  —  is  James  Mansell  —  my 
husband  !  [The  reader  held  out  her  hand  piteously  to  Solomon 
Grace ;  he  supported  her,  and  she  held  on  to  him,  and  that 
seemed  to  give  her  more  power  to  read  on.]  We  were  mar- 
ried at  St.  Mary's  Church,  Glo'ster,  on  the  13th  of  July,  1873. 

"  That's  a  lie,"  said  James. 

"  It  does  not  read  like  one,"  was  the  dogged  reply. 

In  1878  he  robbed  me  of  my  savings,  and  went  to  America. 
Last  month  one  Yarney  from  Liverpool  told  him  I  had  money. 
He  came  for  it  directly,  and  took  me  with  it —  it  was  four  hun- 


116  SINGLEHEART   AND  DOUBLEFACE. 

dred  pounds  —  sooner  than  not  have  it  at  all.  Dear  madam,  1 
could  not  let  my  child  be  robbed.  [Thei'e,  1  knew  it  —  she 
took  back  her  own.]  But  James  Manseli  is  yours  if  worth 
keeping.  [Are  you  worth  keeping?]  My  door  he  never 
enters  again.  But  if  ever  you  should  be  as  desolate  as  I  was 
on  your  steps  that  bitter  night,  my  home  is  yours.  God  help 
us  both. 

Sarah  Mansell, 

13  Green  Street,  Liverpool. 

"That  is  as  clever  a  lie  as  ever  woman  told,"  said 
James  Mausell. 

Elizabeth  replied,  "  It  is  God's  truth !  Sunshine  is 
not  clearer.  So,  then,  I  never  had  but  one  husband." 
She  put  both  hands  to  her  face  and  blushed  to  the 
throat.  "  You  were  his  friend.  Take  me  home."  She 
clung  piteously  to  Solomon.  Then  she  turned  to  Double- 
face.  "In  one  hour  my  servant  will  give  you  your 
clothes  on  my  doorstep.  My  door  you  never  enter 
again." 

"  Mind  that ! "  said  the  Illinois  man.  "  I  shall  be 
there.  '  Every  dog  has  his  day  ! '  "  With  the  word  he 
tucked  the  resolute  but  trembling  Elizabeth  tight  under 
his  arm  and  took  her  home. 

Doubleface  cursed  them  both  as  they  retreated.  Then 
he  rushed  to  the  water-side,  and  the  steamer  was  now  all 
in  sight,  and  Sarah  Mansell  still  visible,  standing  over 
her  child  with  her  eyes  raised  to  heaven. 

Then  the  fool  and  villain  raged  and  raved  between  the 
two  superior  women  he  had  deceived  and  lost.  Both  too 
good  for  him,  and  at  last  he  knew  it  —  both  in  sight,  yet 
leaving  him  forever,  and  he  knew  it.  He  raved ;  he 
cursed ;  he  ran  to  the  water's  edge.  No,  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  die.  He  took  out  his  flask  and  went  for  com- 
fort to  his  ruin  —  he  drank  neat  brandy  fiercely. 

Then  fire  ran  through  his  veins.     He  began   not   to 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  117 

care  quite  so  much.  He  drank  again.  Aha !  He  was 
brave.  He  defied  them.  He  drank  both  their  healths 
in  brandy.  He  vowed  to  have  two  more  as  good  as 
either  of  them.  He  drank  on  till  his  eyes  set  and  he 
rolled  upon  the  pavement.  There  the  police  found  him 
dead  drunk,  and  held  a  short  consultation  over  him. 

"Police  cell?" 

"No  — hospital." 


118  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEPACB. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Joseph  Pindeb  and  Deborah  Smart  kept  the  home 
and  the  little  shop,  and  were  on  those  terras  of  gentle 
fellowship  which  often  lead  to  a  closer  union  when  some 
stronger  attaclunent  ceases  to  interfere.  When  a  month 
had  elapsed  they  began  to  be  very  anxious  to  hear  from 
Sarah ;  and  one  evening  Pinder  said  if  she  had  written 
the  day  she  landed,  or  even  the  day  after,  they  ought  to 
have  had  a  letter  that  very  day. 

"Oh,"  said  Deborah,  "he  won't  let  her  write  to  us. 
That  is  my  trouble  now  —  we  shall  never  know  whether 
she  is  dead  or  alive." 

Pinder  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  that;  so 
then  they  had  a  discussion.  It  was  interrupted  by  the 
rattle  of  a  fly  drawing  up  at  the  door.  Wheel  visitors 
were  rare  at  that  house.  Deborah  thought  the  man  had 
drawn  up  at  the  wrong  door;  Pinder  said  he  would  go 
and  see ;  a  knock  at  the  door  settled  the  question. 
Pinder  opened  it ;  and  there,  full  in  the  gas-light,  stood 
Sarah  Mansell  and  Lucy.  Pinder  uttered  a  loud  excla- 
mation. She  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  put 
both  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "  Yes,  my  good  Joseph, 
here  we  are,  thank  Heaven  !  0  sister  ! "  and  she  stopped 
Deborah's  scream  of  amazement  and  delight  by  flying 
into  her  arms.  The  cab  was  paid,  the  boxes  taken  into 
the  parlor,  and  then  Sarah  and  Lucy  were  inspected  and 
cuddled  again. 

Then  came  a  fusillade  of  questions.  "But  what 
brought  you  back  so  soon  ?  Did  he  change  his  mind  ? 
I  never  thought  he  would  let  you  come  back  at  all.     And 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  119 

looking  like  a  rose ;  you  are  properly  sunburned ;  but  it 
becomes  you  —  everything  becomes  my  sister.  Here's 
your  picture ;  it  has  been  our  only  comfort.  Aren't  you 
hungry  after  your  journey  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am." 

"Bless  you !  And  I  could  almost  bless  him  for  bring- 
ing you  back  in  such  health  and  spirits.  There,  you  go 
up-stairs  and  make  yourselves  comfortable ;  your  supper 
shall  be  ready  in  ten  minutes.  Oh,  dear !  I  don't  know 
whether  I'm  on  my  head  or  my  heels  for  joy." 

In  due  course  the  cloth  was  laid  for  five,  and  supper 
served. 

"  Will  he  be  here  to  supper  ?  "  asked  Deborah,  with  a 
laughable  diminution  of  ardor. 

"No." 

"  That  is  odd.     Of  course  he  will  sleep  here  ?  " 

"No." 

At  this  Deborah  and  Pinder  sat  open-mouthed,  and 
could  hardly  believe  their  senses.  Sarah,  brimful  of 
health  and  in  good  spirits,  yet  her  husband  not  with  her. 
He  could  not  be  far  oif,  thought  Deborah. 

"  He  is  in  Liverpool  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  he  is  coming  by  next  boat  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  never." 

"Let  us  welcome  her,  not  question  her,"  suggested 
Pinder ;  "  she  will  tell  us  all  about  it  when  she  chooses. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  see  her  looking  so  well  and  so 
happy." 

"Happy,  because  I  am  at  peace,  and  because  I  have 
got  back  to  two  dear  friends.  Ah !  I  saw  you  both  in 
my  dream,  sitting  over  that  picture  there  and  saying, 
'  We  shall  never  see  her  again.'  " 

"  0  gracious  heavens  !  and  so  we  did,"  cried  Deborah. 


120  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  Sarah  replied,  "  the  vision  was  so 
plain." 

Deborah's  curiosity  burned  her ;  she  could  not  help 
putting  questions  directly  or  indirectly.  Sarah  parried 
them  calnil}^ ;  then  came  a  practical  and  somewhat  deli- 
cate question.     Deborah  approached  it  indirectly. 

"  Since  you  went  I  was  afraid  to  be  alone  in  the  house, 
and  Mr.  Pinder  he  has  slept  in  Lucy's  room." 

Sarah  saw  at  once  what  she  would  be  at,  and  said, 
"  Pray  make  no  change  for  me.  Lucy  will  sleep  with 
me  in  the  best  bedroom.  We  shall  both  prefer  it,  shall 
we  not  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  mamma !  I  like  to  be  with  you  day  and 
night." 

Deborah  was  charmed  at  the  arrangement,  and  so  was 
Pinder:  he  had  expected  to  be  politely  consigned  to 
some  other  dwelling.  Deborah,  however,  must  try  once 
more  to  draw  her  sister. 

"This  is  a  blessed  state  of  things,"  said  she,  "but  I 
am  afraid  'tis  too  good  to  last.  He  will  drop  on  us  some 
day,  and  turn  us  to  the  right-about." 

Sarah  would  not  utter  a  syllable  in  reply,  and  wore  an 
impassive  countenance,  as  she  took  no  interest  whatever 
in  the  speculation.  It  must  be  confessed  this  was  enough 
to  exasperate  curiosity.  "  Well,"  said  Deborah  in  de- 
spair, "  will  you  answer  me  one  thing  ?  Has  he  collared 
the  money  ? "  Sarah  put  her  hand  to  her  bosom,  and 
produced  a  bundle  of  notes.  "  It  is  all  here  except  the 
travelling  expenses,"  she  said  calmly. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Pinder,  "  and  for  pity's  sake 
don't  question  her  any  more." 

Sarah  smiled.  "Don't  be  hard  on  her,  Joseph,"  said 
she.  "  She  must  ask  questions,  being  a  woman,  and  one 
that  loves  me.  But  I'm  not  bound  to  answer  them,  you 
know." 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  121 

"  If  she  won't  bear  to  be  questioned,  she  shall  go  to 
bed,  for  I  am  dying  with  curiosity.  Aren't  you,  Mr. 
Finder  ?     Now  tell  the  truth." 

"  Well,  I  am,"  was  the  frank  reply.  "  But  I  don't 
want  to  know  everything  all  in  a  moment.  I'd  rather 
have  her  here  and  know  nothing  more,  than  know  every- 
thing and  not  have  Ae?*." 

Deborah  acquiesced  hypocritically,  because  she  had 
just  remembered  she  could  get  it  all  out  of  Lucy.  That 
young  lady  now  showed  fatigue,  and  the  little  party 
separated  for  the  night. 

"  One  word,"  said  Deborah  to  Sarah  in  her  bedroom. 
<*  Grive  me  one  word  to  sleep  on.     Are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Sister,  I  am  content." 

Deborah  pumped  Lucy.  Lucy,  to  her  infinite  surprise, 
pursed  up  her  lips,  and  would  not  say  a  word. 

Her  mother  had  made  her  promise  most  solemnly  not 
to  reveal  anything  whatever  that  had  happened  to  them 
in  New  York. 

Deborah  writhed  under  this,  but  Finder  made  light  of 
it :  and  really  there  was  plenty  to  balance  the  want  of 
complete  information.  Sarah  resumed  her  business  :  he 
was  once  more  her  associate,  and  his  jealousy  was  set 
to  sleep. 

Her  husband  was  not  there,  and  no  longer  filled  her 
thoughts.  She  never  fretted  for  him ;  indeed,  she 
ignored  the  man.  The  phenomenon  was  new  and  unac- 
countable, but  certain.  Joseph  Finder  threw  himself 
with  more  ardor  than  ever  into  her  service,  und  persuaded 
her  to  seize  an  opportunity,  and  rent  larger  and  better- 
situated  premises  in  a  good  thoroughfare.  Here  their 
trade  was  soon  quadrupled,  and  Sarah  Mansell  was  lit- 
erally on  the  road  to  fortune.  By  and  by  Lucy's  health 
failed.  It  was  "  Finder  to  the  rescue  "  directly.  He 
took  a  little  villa  and  garden  outside  the  town,  and  there 


122  SINGLEHEAUT   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

he  established  Deborah  and  Lucy  with  a  maid-servant. 
Sarah  slept  there.  Pinder  had  a  room  there,  but  gen- 
erally slept  on  the  old  premises. 

All  this  time  he  was  making  visible  advances  in  the 
affection  of  Sarah  Mansell.  Indeed,  that  straightfor- 
ward woman  never  condescended  to  conceal  her  growing 
affection  for  him.  The  change  was  visible  on  the  very 
night  of  her  arrival,  but  now,  as  the  months  rolled  on, 
her  innocent  affection  and  tenderness  for  the  friend  who 
had  suffered  for  her  and  loved  her  these  ten  years  grew 
and  grew.  Deborah  saw  it.  Lucy  saw  it.  The  last  to 
see  it  was  Joseph  himself ;  but  even  he  discovered  it  at 
last  with  a  little  help  from  Deborah.  In  truth,  it  was 
undisguised.  The  only  mystery  was  how  it  could  be 
reconciled  with  her  character,  for  she  was  a  wife,  and  the 
most  prudent  of  women.  Then  why  let  Joseph  Pinder 
see  he  was  the  man  she  cared  for,  and  the  only  one  ? 
However,  one  day  the  exultant  Joseph  found  there  were 
limits.  In  the  ardor  of  his  affection  he  went  to  kiss 
her.  She  drew  back  directly:  "Please  don't  forget  I 
am  James  Mansell's  wife."  And  for  a  day  or  two  after 
that  her  manner  was  guarded  and  reserved.  This  was 
a  warning  to  Mr.  Joseph  Pinder.  A  full  and  sweet 
affection  visibly  offered,  but  passion  declined  without  a 
moment's  hesitation.  Joseph  was  chilled  and  disap- 
pointed for  the  moment,  but  what  he  had  endured  for 
her  in  less  happy  times  reconciled  him  to  the  limits  she 
now  imposed.  The  situation  was  heavenly  compared 
with  those  that  had  preceded  it,  and  above  all  he  saw 
nobody  to  be  jealous  of.  He  had  also  little  auxiliary 
]ojs  in  the  affection  of  Lucy  and  Deborah.  These  two, 
as  well  as  Sarah,  loved,  petted,  and  made  much  of  him. 

How  long  this  placid  affection  and  sweet  tranquil  con- 
tent—  the  most  enduring  happiness  nature  permits,  if 
/flan  could  but  see  it  —  might  have  endured,  I  cannot 


SINGLEHBABT   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  123 

say,  for  it  was  cut  short  about  ten  months  after  Sarah's 
return  by  a  revelation  that  let  in  passion  and  let  out 
peace. 

They  did  now  a  brisk  trade  with  the  United  States ; 
and  one  evening  a  new  agent  came  from  New  York  with 
liberal  oifers.  This  man  happened  to  be  a  gossip  and  a 
friend  of  Solomon  B.  Grace.  " '  Mansell ! '  "  said  he 
(the  name  over  the  shop).  "  I  could  tell  you  a  queer 
story  connected  with  that  name." 

"  It's  not  an  uncommon  name,"  said  Pinder.  "  Was 
it  James  Mansell  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  was  a  woman,  —  a  Mrs.  Mansell.  My  friend 
Grace's  wife  —  that  is  now  —  found  her  seated  on  a 
doorstep  with  a  little  girl :  she  said  she  had  missed  her 
husband.  Mrs.  Grace  —  at  least,  Mrs.  Haynes,  she  was 
then  —  asked  her  in,  and  liked  her  so  well  she  gave  her 
her  supper  and  a  bed.  Presently,  home  comes  Mr. 
Haynes,  her  husband,  quite  unexpected.  They  had  a 
hug  or  two,  I  suppose,  and  talked  of  their  family  affairs. 
And  it  seems  this  Mrs.  Mansell  listened,  for  next  day 
this  Haynes,  as  he  called  himself,  missed  four  hundred 
pounds  sterling  that  was  sewed  inside  his  pocket.  There 
was  a  row  :  one  said  one  thing,  one  said  another.  Then, 
let  me  see,  what's  next  ?  Oh,  I  remember  ;  what  do  you 
think  ?  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haynes  were  watching  the 
steamer  starting  for  England.  Doesn't  Mrs.  Mansell 
step  on  deck  all  of  a  sudden  and  shakes  the  missing 
bank-notes  in  both  their  faces  "  — 

"  Capital ! "  roared  Pinder.     "  Go  on  !  go  on  ! " 

"  And  it  turned  out  she  had  only  taken  back  her  own, 
for  this  Haynes  was  no  Haynes  at  all,  but  one  Mansell, 
if  you  please,  and  had  been  taking  a  turn  at  bigamy." 

"  The  scoundrel !     Now  I  see  it  all." 

"However,  it  didn't  pay.  Both  the  women  sacked 
him,  and  Mrs.  Haynes's  friends  wanted  to  imprison  him. 


124  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACB. 

But  Solomon  B.  Grace  said,  ^  Don't  let's  have  a  row. 
Many  me.'  Mind,  he  had  always  been  sweet  on  her. 
So  she  married  him  like  a  bird.  Why,  you  seem  quite 
fluttered  like.     Do  you  know  the  people  ?  " 

"I  do.  This  very  shop  belongs  to  that  same  Mrs. 
Mansell." 

"  Do  tell !  How  things  come  about !  Then  of  course 
the  story  is  no  news  to  you  ?  "  said  the  agent. 

"  Yes,  it  is.     She  never  mentions  his  name." 

"No  wonder.     It  must  be  a  sore  subject." 

"Where  is  the  villain  ?  What  has  become  of  him? 
Any  chance  of  his  coming  over  here  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  " 

You  may  imagine  the  effect  of  this  story  upon  Finder. 
He  went  out  to  the  villa  hot  with  it,  and  glowing  with 
love  and  pity  for  Sarah  and  rage  at  her  husband.  But 
during  the  walk  he  cooled  a  little,  and  began  to  ask  him- 
self if  he  ought  to  go  and  blurt  out  his  information. 

Sarah  must  have  some  reason  for  withholding  it  so 
long.  Why,  of  course  she  was  mortified,  and  would 
not  thank  him  if  he  went  and  published  it.  Herein  he 
misunderstood  Sarah's  motive  :  it  was  more  profound, 
and  the  result  of  much  thought  and  forecast.  HoAvever, 
she  will  speak  for  herself.  As  for  Finder,  he  took  a 
middle  course :  he  confided  it  to  Deborah,  stipulating 
that  she  should  feel  her  way  with  Sarah,  and  see  how 
she  could  bear  the  truth  being  known. 

Deborah  acted  on  these  instructions.  But  Sarah  broke 
through  them  all  in  a  moment,  and  told  her  the  whole 
truth. 

Next  morning  after  breakfast  she  spoke  privately  to 
Finder. 

"So  you  have  heard  something  about  what  parted 
James  Mansell  and  me  forever  ?  "  (She  had  divined  at 
once  it  must  have  come  through  Finder.) 


SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  125 

"Yes,  Sarah,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have." 

"Well,  Deborah  will  tell  you  the  whole  story.  It  is 
not  a  matter  I  care  to  talk  about." 

"  I  would  rather  have  heard  it  from  you  than  from  a 
stranger.     Did  you  doubt  whose  side  I  should  be  on  ?  " 

"No,  Joseph,  not  for  a  moment.  If  you  must  know, 
it  was  entirely  for  your  sake  I  kept  it  to  myself." 

"  For  my  sake  ?  Why,  it  only  makes  my  heart  warm 
a  little  more  to  you.  To  think  that  such  an  angel  as 
you  should  ever  be  deceived  and  pillaged ! " 

"  And  cured.  Believe  it  or  not,  I  am  thankful  it  hap- 
pened, and  almost  grateful  to  the  man  for  undeceiving 
me  before  I  wasted  any  more  affection  on  such  a  creat- 
ure. No,  Joseph.  I  am  single-hearted,  as  I  always  was, 
and  my  heart  turned  to  you  before  ever  you  saw  my  face 
this  time,  and  I  kept  that  cruel  story  locked  in  my 
bosom  for  3'our  sake.  Ah,  well !  I  was  not  to  have  my 
way.  You  know  my  condition  now  —  neither  maid, 
wife,  nor  widow  —  and  I  am  afraid  it  will  unsettle  your 
mind,  and  this  will  not  be  the  happy  home  it  has  been." 

She  sighed  as  she  said  this.  He  smiled  at  her  wild 
apprehensions.  But  she  was  wise,  and  one  that  knew 
the  heart  of  a  man,  and  had  forecasts. 


126  SINGLBHEAKT   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  only  difference  it  made  at  first  was  a  slight  increase 
of  sympathy  and  respect  on  the  part  of  Joseph  Pinder. 
But  this  was  followed  by  a  more  manifest  ardor  of  devo- 
tion, and  this  in  due  course  by  open  courtship.. 

Sarah  thought  it  due  to  herself  and  her  position  to 
curb  this.  She  did  so  with  admirable  address,  sometimes 
playfully,  sometimes  coldly,  sometimes  firmly,  always 
kindly ;  yet  with  all  this  tact  the  repeated  checks  made 
Pinder  cross  now  and  then. 

She  was  sorry,  but  out  of  priidence  would  not  show  it. 
It  ended  in  his  begging  pardon,  and  in  her  saying  she 
did  not  blame  him ;  it  was  the  natural  consequence  of 
her  situation,  now  that  situation  was  declared. 

As  nothing  stands  still,  this  went  on  till  the  very 
thing  Sarah  had  foreseen  came  to  pass.  The  man  after 
so  many  years  of  self-restraint,  and  so  many  good  offices 
done,  found  himself  at  last  rewarded  with  affection  only. 
That  was  so  sweet,  that  instead  of  satisfying  him,  it 
enticed  him  on ;  he  longed  to  possess  her,  and  asked 
himself  why  not.  It  was  no  longer  either  wrong  or  im- 
possible. He  implored  her  to  divorce  James  Mausell 
and  marry  him.  She  received  the  proposal  with  inno- 
cent horror.  "  For  shame  ! "  she  said  —  "  oh,  for  shame  ! " 
and  turned  her  back  on  him,  and  would  hardly  speak  to 
him  for  some  hours. 

He  took  the  rebuff  humbly  enough  at  the  time.  But 
afterward  he  consulted  his  friends,  and  they  sided  with 
him,  and  he  returned  to  the  charge.  He  pressed  her,  he 
urged  her,  he  coaxed  her,  he  did  everything  except  remind 


SENGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE.  127 

her  of  his  own  merits  (and  her  own  heart  supplied  that 
omission),  but  she  would  not  yield.  And  the  provoking  . 
thing  was,  she  would  not  argue.  Her  old-fashioned  relig- 
ion and  her  old-fashioned  delicacy  despised  reasoning  on 
such  a  matter.  He  might  almost  as  well  have  offered 
her  reasons  for  bigamy.  She  was  prejudiced  and  deaf 
to  logic.  The  next  time  he  attacked  her  she  showed  dis- 
tress. '•'  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  foresaw  this.  I^ow  you  know 
why  I  kept  my  sad  story  to  myself.  I  know  the  value 
of  peace  and  pure  affection,  and  I  know  that  you  or  any 
man  would  demand  more  than  I  can  give.  I  don't  blame 
you,  dear ;  but  you  will  not  forgive  me  ;  it  is  not  likely." 
Her  tears,  the  first  he  had  ever  made  her  shed,  melted 
him.  He  kissed  her,  and  begged  her  to  forgive  him. 
She  sighed  and  said,  "  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  telling  you 
what  it  costs  me  to  deny  you.  You  will  never  be  easy 
now,  but  will  never  move  me.  I  can't  help  it.  I  must 
trust  in  God." 

Joseph  Pinder  told  his  friends  it  was  no  use;  he 
couldn't  move  her ;  he  only  tormented  himself  and  made 
her  unhappy.  Then  one  of  them  laughed  in  his  face, 
and  told  him  he  was  loving  the  woman  like  a  calf,  and 
not  like  a  man.  If  she  is  really  fond  of  you,  be  her 
master.  She'll  like  you  all  the  better,  whatever  she 
may  pretend.  You  cut  it  for  a  year  or  two,  and  let  her 
find  out  what  you  are  worth. 

Another  told  him  he  was  being  humbugged  and  made 
a  convenience  of.  The  woman  was  secretly  hoping  her 
husband  would  come  back  and  eat  humble  pie.  So  what 
with  passion,  the  sense  of  long  service,  instilled  distrust, 
and  wounded  vanity,  Joseph  Pinder,  after  disquieting 
himself  and  Sarah  in  vain  for  six  months,  resolved  to 
make  a  change.  One  Saturday  night  he  packed  up  his 
carpet-bag,  and  announced  that  he  should  go  next  morn- 
ing to  Manchester,  and  thence  to  London. 


128  SINGLEHEART   AND  DOUBLEPACE. 

"  For  how  long  ?  "  asked  Sarah,  anxiously. 

"  Well,  Sarah,  for  good,  unless  something  happens." 

Sarah  said  nothing ;  she  understood  in  a  moment  that 
he  intended  to  make  a  last  attempt,  and  to  go  if  she 
refused. 

Next  morning  she  went  to  church  just  as  usual,  and 
Joe  Pinder  awaited  her  return  —  with  his  ultimatum. 

However,  his  feelings  were  subjected  to  some  little 
trials  before  she  came  home. 

It  was  a  glorious  day. 

Lucy  and  Deborah  sat  out  in  the  little  garden.  He 
finished  packing  his  bag,  and  then  went  down  to  say  a 
last  word  to  them.  He  found  Deborah  with  red  eyes, 
and  silent  too  —  very  unusual  things  with  her.  She  and 
Lucy  had  evidently  been  talking  the  matter  over,  for 
Lucy  asked  him  plump  why  her  mother  would  not  marry 
him.  He  replied,  sullenly,  "  Because  I  don't  deserve  it, 
you  may  be  sure." 

"  That  is  a  fib,"  said  Lucy,  severely.  "  Well,  if  she 
won't,  you  had  better  marry  me.  Anything  is  better 
than  being  cross." 

"  You  must  grow  up  first,"  suggested  Deborah. 

"  Or  I  must  grow  down,"  said  Pinder. 

Then  he  took  Lucy  on  his  knee,  and  being  in  no  humor 
for  jest,  he  said,  "  I  had  set  my  heart  on  you  for  a  daugh- 
ter. A  wife  I  might  find,  but  a  daughter  like  you,  all 
ready  to  love  me  —  a  regular  rosebud  !     Ah,  well ! " 

Lucy,  precocious  in  all  matters  of  sentiment,  gushed 
out  directly,  "  You  shall,  you  shall.  Why,  now  I  think 
of  it,  I  want  a  father.  I  never  much  liked  the  other 
one.  But  I  like  you.  Uncle  Joe  —  I  mean  Father  Joe. 
There,  I  love  —  I  adore  you."  She  spread  her  arms 
supernaturally  wide,  and  threw  them  round  his  neck 
with  an  enthusiastic  rush. 

"Little  angel,"  said  the  affectionate  fellow.     "Well, 


SINGLEHEART   AND  DOUBLEFACE.  129 

Lucy,  I'll  try  for  you,  but  I  suppose  it  is  no  use.  Yes, 
Deborah,''  said  he,  "  I'll  go  for  my  bag,  and  a  few  minutes 
will  decide." 

Deborah  could  not  blame  him,  for  she  knew  that  if 
she'd  been  a  man,  she  could  not  have  been  so  patient  as 
Joe  Finder  had  been.  There  was  a  wicket-gate  at  the 
back  of  the  garden,  and  Sarah  now  appeared  at  it.  She 
had  risen  in  the  world.  Both  she  and  Deborah  were 
dressed  in  rich  black  silk  dresses,  but  with  no  trimming 
or  flounces.  Being  tall,  they  showed  off  the  material  all 
the  more.  Sarah  had  a  white  French  bonnet  and  neat 
gloves,  but,  relic  of  humility,  she  carried  her  prayer- 
book  in  her  hand. 

Deborah  sent  Lucy  in-doors,  and  went  to  meet  her  sister. 
"  0  Sarah,"  she  said,  all  in  a  hurry,  "  do  mind  what 
you're  about.  Joe  Finder's  blood  is  up.  I  think  it  is 
his  friends  that  jeer  him." 

Sarah  sighed,  "  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  can't  do  nothing,  but  you  can  say  a  deal.  Why, 
what  is  a  woman's  tongue  for?  Tell  him  anything, 
promise  anything.  La !  I  wish  I  was  in  3^  our  place  — 
he  should  never  leave  me." 

Before  Sarah  could  answer.  Finder  appeared  at  the 
door  with  a  large  carpet-bag.  He  put  it  down  on  the 
steps.     Deborah  ran  to  him. 

"  O  Joseph,"  she  said,  pathetically,  "  what  should  we 
do  without  thee  ?  And  look  at  the  garden  —  not  a  flower 
but  you  planted,  and  'twas  you  laid  the  turf,  Joe,  dear, 
don't  believe  but  she  loves  you  with  all  her  heart.  She 
never  could  love  two  since  she  was  born,  and  you  are  the 
one.''' 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  the  man,  firmly ;  and 

he  looked  so  pale  and  so  dogged  Deborah  had  little  \w\m.\ 

he  would  give  in.     He  came  to  Sarah  ;  she  was  seated  in 

a  garden-chair  waiting  bravely   for  him.     He  stood  in 

9 


130  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

front  of  her.  "  I've  come  to  know  your  mind  once  for 
all." 

"  I  think  you  know  my  mind,"  she  said,  gently,  '■'■  and 
I'm  sure  you  know  my  heart." 

"  No,  Sarah,  I  don't,  not  to  the  bottom." 

"  Perhaps  not.  Women-folk  were  always  hard  for  men 
to  understand.  Never  heed  that.  Speak  your  own  mind 
to  me,  dear  Joseph." 

And  Pinder  said  he  was  there  on  purpose.  "But 
first,"  said  he,  "  let  me  put  a  question  to  you.  I'm 
almost  ashamed  to,  though." 

"It  is  no  time  to  be  afraid  or  ashamed,"  said  she, 
solemnly.  "Let  me  know  all  that  is  in  your  heaft — the 
heart  that  I  am  losing." 

"No,  no,"  said  Pinder,  "  not  if  you  think  it  worth  keep- 
ing. Well,  Sarah,  what  I  am  driven  to  ask  you  is,  what 
can  any  man  do  to  earn  a  woman  more  than  I  have  done  ? 
I  have  loved  you  honestly  these  ten  years.  I  was  true 
to  you  when  you  didn't  belong  to  me.  I  tried  to  serve 
your  husband  for  your  sake  —  a  chap  I  always  disliked 
and  despised.  You  found  him  out  at  last,  and  parted 
with  him.     Then  I  hid  my  mind  no  longer." 

"  It  never  was  hidden  from  me." 

"  Since  you  came  back  alone  I  have  courted  you  openly. 
You  don't  forbid  me.  You  almost  seem  to  return  my 
love." 

"  Almost  seem !  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul. 
I  never  loved  as  I  love  you,  for  I  never  esteemed." 

"  Ah !     If  I  could  only  believe  that ! " 

"  You  •  may  believe  it.  I  never  told  a  lie.  My  heart 
turned  to  you  when  I  saw  you  in  my  dream,  and  thought 
of  your  long  fidelity  and  no  reward.  My  poor  Joseph, 
my  heart  turned  more  and  more  to  you  as  the  ship  sailed 
homeward,  and  you  were  the  one  that  made  coming  home 
seem  sweetest  to  me.     Where  are  your  eyes  ?     Since  I 


SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  131 

came  home  have  I  ever  regretted  the  creature  I  used  to 
pine  for  ?  (She  put  her  white  hands  to  her  face,  and 
blushed.)  Women  don't  make  love  as  men  do,  but  they 
show  it  in  more  ways  than  men  do,  to  those  who  will  but 
see  it." 

"  Then  show  me  a  little  love  —  real  love.  Make  me 
your  husband ! " 

"  How  can  I  ?  " 

"  Easy  enough.  Divorce  that  villain,  and  marry  me. 
It  is  a  plain  case  of  desertion  and  infidelity.  You  can 
get  a  divorce  for  the  asking." 

"What!     Go  to  law?" 

"  Why  not  ?     It's  done  every  day  by  your  betters." 

She  colored  faintly,  and  said  with  gentle  dignity,  "  My 
superioi's,  you  mean.  They  do  a  many  things  I  can't, 
besides  painting  and  powdering  of  their  faces.  Me  go  to 
a  court  of  law  to  part  those  that  were  joined  till  death  in 
a  church  ?     That  I  could  never  do." 

Pinder  got  angry.  He  belonged  to  a  debating  club, 
and  he  let  her  have  it  accordingly.  "  That  is  all  super- 
stition. The  priests  used  to  tell  ignorant  folks  that 
marriage  was  a  sacrament,  and  only  the  Pope  of  Rome 
could  annul  it.  But  we  are  not  slaves  of  superstition 
and  priestcraft  nowadays.  Marriage  is  not  a  sacrament ; 
it  is  a  contract,  no  more,  no  less.  Your  husband  has 
broken  it  contrary  to  law,  and  you  have  only  got  to  dis- 
solve, it  according  to  law.  Wouldn't  I  divorce  a  faithless 
wife  for  you?  And  you  would  do  as  much  for  me,  if 
you  loved  me  as  I  love  you." 

"  I  love  you  better,"  said  she ;  "  by  the  same  token,  I 

couldn't  quarrel  with  you  as  you  do  with  me.     Oh  !  pray, 

pray  don't  ask  me  to  go  into  a  public  court,  and  say  I 

only  come  to  be  freed  from  a  wicked  husband,  and  then 

have  to  own  another  man  is  waiting  to  take  me.     Ah !  if 

you  respected  me  as  I  do  you,  you  couldn't "  — 

Vol.  9—17 


132  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

"  I  have  respected  you  these  ten  years,  and  I've  shown 
it.  Now  it  is  time  to  respect  myself.  I'm  the  laughing- 
stock of  my  friends  for  my  calf-love." 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  she  in  dismay,  "  if  they  have  been  and 
wounded  your  vanity,  it  is  all  over.  A  man's  love  can- 
not stand  against  his  vanity.  But  oh  !  if  they  knew  how 
you  are  loved  and  respected,  they  would  be  ashamed  to 
play  upon  you  so.  Dear  Joseph,  be  patient,  as  I  am. 
Believe  that  I  love  you  better  than  you  or  any  man  born 
can  ever  love  me.  You  are  so  agitated  and  so  angry, 
you  frighten  me,  dear.  Do  but  think  calmly  one  moment : 
what  is  the  best  thing  in  holy  wedlock,  after  all  ?  Is  it 
not  the  respect,  and  the  tender  affection,  and  the  sweet 
company  ?  What  husband  is  more  cherished  than  you, 
or  better  loved  ?  My  sister  loves  you ;  my  child  loves 
you ;  I  love  you  dearly.  If  you  could  but  see  us  when 
you  are  away,  how  dead-alive  the  place  is,  and  we  all  sit 
mumchance ;  but  the  moment  you  come  we  are  all  gay 
and  talkative.  You  are  our  master,  our  delight,  our  very 
sunshine,  and  is  that  nothing  ?  " 

Joseph  Finder  drank  the  honey  with  glistening  eyes, 
but  he  could  not  quite  digest  it.  He  said  these  were 
sweet  words,  and  there  was  a  time  when  they  would  have 
charmed  his  ears,  and  blinded  him  to  the  hard  truth. 
But  he  was  older  now,  and  had  learned  that  woman's 
words  are  air.  It  is  only  by  her  actions  you  can  ever 
know  her  heart. 

"James  Mansell,"  he  said,  ''is  a  man  of  my  age. 
'Tisn't  likely  we  shall  both  outlive  him.  So  when  you 
say  you  will  not  divorce  him,  that  is  as  much  as  to  say 
you  will  never  be  my  wife  till  he  is  so  obliging  as  to  die. 
What  is  that  but  treating  me  like  a  calf  ?  I  won't  die 
a  bachelor  to  please  James  Mansell,  nor  any  woman  that 
clings  to  him /or  life.     I  will  leave  this,  kill  or  cure." 

Sarah  objected  firmly  to  that :  "  No,  Joseph,  if  we  are 


SLNGLEHEAJIT    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  133 

to  part,  it  is  for  me  to  go  and  you  to  stay.  This  pretty 
house  and  garden  I  have  enjoyed  so,  'tis  the  fruit  of 
your  industry,  and  your  skill,  and  your  affection,  that  I 
cannot  recompense  as  yon  require,  and  so  you  will  call 
me  ungrateful  some  day,  and  break  my  heart  altogether. 
My  dear,  you  must  oblige  me  in  this  one  thing :  you 
must  live  here,  and  send  me  back  to  my  little  shop,  and 
let  me  see  you  get  rich,  and  make  some  woman  happy 
that  will  love  you  better  than  I  do.  You  loved  me  most 
when  I  stood  at  that  little  counter  in  Green  Street,  and 
didn't  even  pretend  to  be  a  lady."  She  began  steadily 
enough,  but,  with  all  her  resolution,  her  voice  failed, 
and  she  ended  in  tears. 

"  No,  Sarah,  you  are  not  going  to  get  it  all  your  own 
way.  Lucy  loves  me,  and  would  be  my  daughter  to- 
morrow I  won't  hurt  her ;  and  I  could  not  let  you  go 
back  to  Green  Street.  I'll  take  nothing  with  me  but 
my  carpet-bag,  and  my  pride,  and  the  heart  you  have 
worn  out." 

Then  Sarah  began  to  cry  in  earnest. 

"  O  Joseph,"  said  she,  in  accents  to  melt  a  stone,  "  is 
it  not  sorrow  enough  to  part  ?  Can  you  part  in  anger  ? 
I  wouldn't  be  angry  with  you  if  you  were  to  kill  me." 

"Part  in  anger?"  said  he.  "Heaven  forbid!  For- 
give me,  my  darling,  if  I  have  spoken  a  harsh  word; 
and  give  me  your  hand  at  parting."  He  put  out  his 
hand,  she  seized  it,  and  kissed  it  passionately.  He 
kissed  hers  as  tenderly,  and  their  tears  fell  fast  upon 
each  other's  hands.  But  he  was  a  man,  and  had  said  he 
would  go.  So  he  actually  did  tear  himself  away,  and 
catch  up  his  bag,  and  through  the  wicket-gate ;  and  such 
was  his  manly  resolution  and  his  wounded  pride  that  he 
went  thirty  —  or  at  least  twenty -five — yards  before  he 
wished  himself  back  upon  any  terms  whatever.  Till 
now  he  never  knew  now  much  she  loved  him. 


^ 


134  SrSTGLEHEART   AND  DOTTBLEFACE. 

As  for  Sarah,  she  did  not  attempt  to  deceive  herself 
or  any  one  else.  She  laid  her  brow  on  the  little  table, 
and  sobbed  piteously.  Deborah  came  running  to  her, 
and  took  off  her  bonnet  the  first  thing,  for  why  should 
she  spoil  that  as  well  as  break  her  heart  ?  But  while 
saving  the  sacred  bonnet,  she  was  trying  to  comfort  the 
heart. 

"  How  could  he  leave  you  ?  How  could  you  let  him  ? 
It  will  kill  you." 

"  Perhaps  not.     I  trust  in  Heaven." 

"Don't  cry  like  that,  dear,"  sobbed  Deborah.  "He 
will  come  back  in  a  month  or  two,  and  then  you  will 
give  in  to  him." 

"No.  I  can  only  cry  for  him,  and  trust  in  my  Re- 
deemer, as  I  did  when  that  creature  played  me  false. 
I  didn't  trust  in  vain.     Bring  me  ray  child." 

Deborah  put  Lucy  on  her  lap,  and  Sarah  fondled  her 
and  cried  over  her.  Presently  what  should  Deborah  see 
but  Joseph  Pinder  at  the  wicket-gate  with  his  bag. 
She  ran  to  him  all  in  a  hurry  and  whispered,  "Not  yet, 
ye  foolish  !  you  mustn't  come  back  for  a  week ;  then 
she  will  be  like  wax." 

"  I'm  not  coming  back  at  all,"  said  Pinder,  loud  and 
aggressively.  "It  is  only  out  of  civility.  Lady  and 
gentleman  from  America  looking  everywhere  for  her." 
Then  he  held  the  gate  open,  and  beckoned  to  a  lady  and 
gentleman.  They  appeared,  and  at  his  invitation  passed 
through  the  wicket. 

Now  Sarah  had  ears  like  a  hare.  She  heard  every 
word,  and  her  smile  of  celestial  love  and  just  a  little 
earthly  triumph  at  Pinder's  voice  and  self-deception  was 
delicious ;  only,  as  she  had  been  crying,  she  could  not 
face  these  visitors  all  in  a  moment,  but  dried  her  eyes 
and  tried  to  compose  her  features.  Just  then  Pinder 
pointed  her  out  in  silence,  and  Solomon  B.  Grace  walked 


SINGLEHEART    AND   DOUBLEFACE.  136 

gravely  down  the  garden,  and  drew  up  stiffly  at  lier  right 
hand.  Mrs.  Grace  also  moved  toward  Sarah,  but  hung 
back  a  little.  There  was  an  air  of  solemnity  about  them 
both.  Pinder,  instead  of  retiring  again,  crept  down  a 
little  way  with  his  bag,  and  a  swift  exchange  of  words 
passed  between  him  and  Deborah. 

"  You  came  out  of  civility :  what  are  you  staying  for  ?  " 

"  Curiosity,"  snarled  Pinder. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Mansell  saw  Solomon  Grace  she  said 
eagerly,  — 

"  Oh,  my  good  friend,  you  here  ?  Welcome  ! "  She 
put  out  both  hands  to  him. 

He  took  them,  and  said  gravely,  "  We  bring  you 
serious  news." 

At  the  sound  "we,"  Sarah  turned,  and  there  was 
Mrs.  Grace.  She  welcomed  her  just  as  she  had  done 
her  husband.  Lucy  made  a  school  courtesy  to  both  of 
them. 

There  was  a  hesitation.  Grace  and  his  wife  looked 
at  each  other. 

"  Yes,  you  can  tell  her,"  said  Elizabeth. 

Sarah  Mansell  eyed  them  keenly.  "  Yes,  you  can  tell 
me :  whoever  is  false  to  me  is  dead  to  me  from  that 
moment." 

She  half  divined  the  truth.  Some  women  can  read 
faces,  manner,  incidents,  all  in  a  moment,  and  put  them 
together.     This  was  one. 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  prepared 
for  it.     James  Mansell  is  no  more." 

Then  Grace  handed  her  the  certificate  of  Mansell's 
death. 

Mrs.  Grace  resumed;  "He  died  in  the  hospital,  and 
he  died  penitent,  begging  forgiveness  of  those  he  had 
injured.  Mrs.  Mansell,  1  stood  by  his  bedside  and  par- 
doned him." 


136  SINGLEHEART   AND    DOUBLEFACB. 

"  And  so  do  I,"  said  Sarah.  "  I  forgive  him  with  all 
my  heart,  as  I  hope  to  be  one  day  forgiven ; "  and  she 
raised  her  pious  eyes  to  heaven. 

Whilst  this  was  going  on,  Deborah  came  behind 
Finder,  Avho  was  listening  gravely  to  every  word,  and 
quietly  took  the  bag  away  out  of  his  hand,  and  then  his 
hat ;  both  of  these  she  handed  to  the  servant-girl,  and 
bade  her  hide  them.  Susan  took  the  hint  in  a  moment. 
Thus  disarmed,  Joseph  sat  meekly  down  in  a  chair  at 
some  distance,  and  Lucy  immediately  seated  herself  on 
his  knee,  with  an  arm  round  his  neck.  Sarah  parted  for 
the  present  with  her  American  friends,  but  took  their 
address,  and  in  due  course  entertained  them  hospit- 
ably. 

But  this  was  a  solemn  day,  and  though  she  scorned  to 
feign  a  single  particle  of  regret,  yet  she  felt  it  was  not  a 
day  for  conviviality.  When  she  had  bidden  the  Graces 
"  good-by  "  at  the  wicket-gate,  she  walked  slowly  toward 
the  house.  Then,  looking  askant,  her  eye  fell  on  Finder, 
with  Lucy  on  his  knee.  She  stopped  and  looked  at 
them. 

Just  then  the  servant  came  out  into  the  porch  and 
announced  dinner. 

Sarah  smiled  sweetly  on  the  pair,  and  said,  "Come, 
my  dears." 

They  both  came;  Joseph  very  humbly.  But  Sarah 
never  uttered  one  syllable  of  comment  on  his  temporary 
revolt.  He,  on  his  part,  tried  his  best  to  make  her  for- 
get their  one  quarrel.  But  that  was  quite  unnecessary, 
and  she  let  him  see  it.  She  never  thought  him  in  the 
wrong,  but  only  thought  herself  in  the  right,  and  she 
never  showed  him  even  the  shadow  of  resentment  or 
exultation. 

She  was  "  Singleheart,"  and  she  loved  him. 

When,  after  waiting  a  decent  time,  he  threw  out  a 


SINGLEHEART    AND    DOUBLEFACE.  137 

timid  hint  that  he  hoped  he  might  call  her  his  own 
before  so  very  long,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  said, 
"  Wheneoer  you  please,  dear.  Pm  only  waiting  your 
pleasure." 

He  was  amazed.  But  that  did  not  prevent  his  catch- 
ing her  to  him  with  rapture. 

lu  the  ardent  colloquy  that  followed  this  embrace  he 
said  he  had  been  fearing  she  would  demand  a  year's 
delay. 

"  Not  I,"  said  she  ;  '•  nor  yet  a  month's.  To  be  sure, 
I  have  my  own  old-fashioned  notions  of  decency ;  but 
when  it  comes  to  ceremony,  I  would  not  set  up  such 
straws  against  you,  not  for  one  moment.  What  is  eti- 
quette to  me  ?  I  am  not  a  lady."  [I  am  not  so  sure  of 
that  as  she  was.] 

So  they  were  married  off-hand,  and  she  soon  showed 
Joe  Pinder  whether  she  loved  him  or  not.  All  he  had 
ever  dreamed  of  love  never  came  near  hers.  His  happi- 
ness is  perfect ;  and  ten  times  the  sweeter  that  he 
waited  for  it,  pined  for  it,  lost  it  entirely,  earned  it 
again,  gained  it  by  halves,  then  enjoyed  it  to  the  full. 

To  the  world  they  are  just  thriving  traders,  very  dili- 
gent and  square  in  business,  but  benevolent ;  yet  their 
private  history  is  more  romantic  than  the  lives  of  nine- 
teen poets  in  twenty. 

Deborah  is  courting  diligently.  One  Siinday  after- 
noon Lucy,  nodding  over  a  good  book,  yet  fitfully  ob- 
servant, saw  her  wooed  by  three  eligible  parties  in  turn 
over  the  palings.  Then  Lucy  asked  her  which  she  was 
going  to  marry. 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Are  they  all  three  so  very  nice  ? "  inquired  Lucy 
slyly. 

"  They  are  all  three  nicer  than  none  at  all,"  was 
Deborah's  reply. 


138  SINGLEHEART   AND   DOUBLEFACE. 

Lucy's  last. 

"  Aunt  Deb,  I  don't  think  you  will  ever  be  married." 
"That's  good  news  for  me.     And  why  not  ?  " 
"Because  marriages  are  made  in  heaven.'^ 
Now  it  is  not  for  me  to  predict  the  future ;  but  from 
my  observations  of  the  Lucy  Mansells   I   have  known, 
I  should  expect  to  find  that  young  lady  at  seventeen 
excessively  modest  and   retiring,  but  as  stupid  as  an 
owl. 


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